


Nickovich.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Gallavich, Gen, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey Uses His Words, Nicky Nichols - everyones BFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: NEW FIC!!! So I have never tried a crossover before but these two could be fricken amazing so here I go … Imagine if when Mickey escaped prison, whilst he tries to meet up with Ian, he ends up meeting another fugitive - Nicky Nichols. They become friends and she helps alter the course of Season 7 Gallavich plot. I don’t know how long this one will be - it’s just for fun really so let me know what you think and I really hope you enjoy it :) Han xx





	1. Possums and Pandas.

There is a scraping sound as the door is prised open. Mickey feigns sleep but his hand wraps tightly around the baseball bat, ready. A light is shone very briefly into the gloom of the van and then a bedraggled figure climbs in. Mickey gives them a moment to relax and then lunges. The intruder lets out a shriek as Mickey drags them down.

They tussle until Mickey manages to land a vicious body blow to the intruders gut. The figure curls protectively inwards as Mickey scrabbles to his feed and lifts up the bat, using it to jab the gasping huddle of clothes at his feet

“Get the fuck up and get the fuck out, asshole.”

There is a groan but no sign of movement and Mickey shakes his head impatiently.

“If I count to three and you’re still here, I’m gonna smash your fuckin’ head in with this bat. One … Two ... motherfucker, I ain’t jokin’ … Okay … Th…”

“Wait! Jesus! Wait!”

Mickey lowers the bat cautiously and squints downwards suspiciously

“Put your torch on.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the pissed off guy with the steel bat aimed at your face is tellin’ you to.”

He snaps and after a second the little light comes on with a click illuminating the van. Wide brown eyes stare up at him, thickly ringed with patchy black eye-liner.

“You’re a chick?”

“And you’re a dick. So fucking what?” 

Mickey draws a heavy breath through his nose and lets it out in an impatient huff

“Wouldn’t have punched you so hard if I’d known. Not fuckin’ pregnant are you?”

“Probably not any more.”

The young woman quips and then grins at Mickey’s horrified expression

“Just fuckin’ with you, handsome.”

Mickey bites his lip and almost smiles but pushes it away

“Alright, good. Now fuck off.”

“Hey, c’mon. It’s a damn typhoon out there! Can’t I stay a little bit?”

“No.”

Mickey says bluntly.

“I got a beer. I’ll share it with ya.”

She pulls a can out of her pocket and wiggles it at him enticingly. Mickey tries to snatch it and she clutches it to her chest reproachfully

“Hey!”

“Bitch, consider it fuckin’ payment for scratchin’ up my van.”

“Your van is a piece of shit. I broke in because I thought there is no way anyone actually still owns this hunk of junk.”

“Well someone does fuckin’ own it, and you ain’t stayin’.”

Mickey lights a cigarette, his eyes flicking toward the young woman who is watching the smoke curl with an almost blissful longing on her face. He snorts quietly and offers her the pack.

“Want one?”

“Oh! God bless you!”

She grasps for the packet but Mickey snatches it back, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, sure, I get it … you wanna share?”

She smiles, an infectious grin that makes Mickey smile back despite himself. Her smile reminds him of someone but he can’t place it. She huffs out a breath and gestures to the world outside, a flippant gesture that hides her desperation well.

“Maybe by the time we’re done with our picnic the rain will stop, huh?”

“You wanna fuckin’ hope so.”

Mickey grunts, stooping beside his flimsy blow up mattress and picking up a used paper coffee cup and holding it out for her to fill. She does so carefully, measuring the half by tilting the can to her ear judiciously. It is a fair minded thing to do and Mickey feels a twinge of something close to liking.

“You wanna trade names too?”

“Not really.”

“Well I do! I gotta appeal to your better nature and hostage one-o-one, get your captor to know your name so they see you like a human and like you more.”

“Bitch, I ain’t your captor.”

Mickey gives her a frustrated look and shakes his head, sipping his beer.

“Sure you’re more like an anti-captor but whatever, my name is Nicky.”

Mickey gives her a flat eyed stare, though he doesn’t care to explain exactly why that annoys him so much. Mickey and Nicky? Bitch definitely ain’t staying now.

“Nichols. Nicky Nichols.”

“Alright, fuck you. That is not a real fucking name.”

“Uh … yeah it is.”

“Bullshit.”

Mickey scoffs, downing the rest of his beer.

*Nicky Nichols? What kind of shitty, weird, double-sounding name is that?*

Thinks Mickey Milkovich with a small smirk.

“Hey, if I was gonna make up a name, it would be a lot more imaginative than that. I’d be like … Lorna … Reznikov.”

Nicky frowns at the can of beer in her hand and shakes her head sadly

“Okay, that wasn’t fuckin’ imaginative at all. I just took the first name of my bat-shit crazy ex and stuck it with the last name of my prison Mom. Sorry.”

Her apology is weirdly genuine for something Mickey couldn’t give two fucks about and he begins to wonder if they woman sitting in his van is mentally ill.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“So what’s your name?”

Mickey licks his lip and looks away dismissively

“C’mon, if you don’t tell me, I’m gonna name you like a pet and you look like a wet possum so it’s not gonna be a great name.”

“A fuckin’ possum?”

“Yeah, you got those angry little dark eyes and pale, pointy face.”

Mickey touches his nose self-consciously before dropping his hand and glaring at her.

“You suck at makin’ people like you. You ever get kidnapped, they’re gonna kill you real fuckin’ quick.”

Nickey laughs and punches his arm affectionately

“Hey, I didn’t say you aren’t handsome – you are, if I was even a tiny bit hetro I’d be all over you – but you might wanna get some rouge or somethin’ cause you’re pale as fuck.”

“You look like a scrawny panda in a raggedy ass, dollar store tranny wig.”

Mickey snaps, he’s tired and it has taken him a minute to think of an insult but this is a pretty good one, the sort of thing that would make Mandy spit at him.

“Yeah? Fuck. Good job I won’t be sleeping rough tonight or I’ll look even shittier tomorrow.”

Nicky gives him another one of those smiles and the word ‘adorable’ pops into Mickey’s head unbidden. Ian. Of course that is who it reminds him of! Who else does Mickey know with a smile like that? The kind of smile that seems to come from a natural well of happiness and self-assurance that even the most trying of circumstances can’t completely suck dry.

He doesn’t immediately tell her to fuck off so Nicky shuffles back into the van a little way. She tugs a sweater that is on the floor across her lap like a blanket and gives Mickey a plaintive stare

“Seriously, man, whoever you are, whatever your name is, I have no where else to go tonight. I’m not gonna rob you or snore or any annoying shit. I just need to sleep somewhere relatively safe in this crazy fuckin’ city.”

Mickey pushes a hand through his hair, it’s too long but he hasn’t had a chance to cut it yet and he needed it to look different for the escape.

“I could be some psycho rapist. If this is your idea of safe, you’re pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah, no, really, I am. But I’m not the worst judge of people and you seem the nice side of shitty so please? Can I stay?”

For the first time, her lip trembles a little and the tough façade cracks ever so slightly. She looks suddenly very tired and very small and Mickey thinks of Mandy, somewhere in Indiana most likely, but if things have gone so fuckin’ awful that she were in a random van with a random guy, wouldn’t Mickey want to think she might catch a break?

“Steal my shit or try to stab me or any fuckin’ bullshit like that, I’ll cut your tits off.”

His voice is gruff but he hands her another cigarette and a packet of jerky.

“Understood.”

Nicky nods and claps her hands earnestly before her, looking up at him with huge dark eyes before accepting his offerings.

She rummages in her bag and comes up with a small bottle of vodka which she holds out to Mickey

“Sharing, right?”

“Thanks.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows at the unexpected treat and gives her a genuine smile

“Awww! Shit! See, when you smile – WAY less possum! More adorable puppy.”

Mickey snorts and raises his middle finger in salute.

“Don’t push it, Nichols.”

“Hey! You believe me about my shitty name!”

Mickey shrugs and stretches back on the airbed, he doesn’t mind sharing his shelter but he’s not giving up his bed.

“It’s weird as hell, but sure why not.”

The vodka is warming it’s way down his throat and spreading across his chest before settling comfortably in his belly. It makes him feel so much better than he has in weeks, drinking with a … well, not a friend, but someone who has a decent fuckin’ sense of humour at least.

They sit in silence for a little while, passing the bottle back and forth and then Nicky clears her throat.

“I gotta be honest with you about something. I’m on the run, I’m putting it out there because in hindsight it was a dumb thing to do to give you my name and I would appreciate you not yelling it from the rooftops.”

“Not my business what you’re doin’. I can keep my mouth shut.”

Mickey shrugs and stifles a yawn.

“Yeah you don’t really seem to be much of a chatter box.”

Nicky rolls onto her side and points her torch directly at Mickey’s face

“You running away from a crappy marriage?”

“What? Why? I’m not … hey, get that fuckin’ light out of my face.”

Mickey frowns as Nicky obligingly angles the light away from him.

“No I’m not running away from a crappy marriage. I got divorced from my crappy marriage. Last year.”

“Ha! I was kidding but shit! Interesting. You don’t look old enough to have been married long enough for it to be crappy.”

Mickey laughs and bites his lip hard to try and stop it but the vodka has done a number on him and he feels like a soap bubble of words is making it’s way up from his gut and there is nothing he can do to stop it. He doesn’t even want to! He’s been alone far too long.

“Married a hooker I knocked up when my Dad caught me banging the red-head kid I worked with. I was eighteen I think. Anyway, that was a whole fuckin’ disaster cause he was banging her too and I think the kid is mine but I don’t really know … I mean it doesn’t fuckin’ matter now but yeah. Wasn’t great.”

Nicky is looking at him with a peculiar mixture of amusement, respect and sorrow and Mickey shrugs to himself.

“I’m here for the red-head. I miss him.”

“Oh man. You’re love sick.”

Nicky puffs out her lower lip sympathetically and passes the vodka back to him

“That sucks, dude.”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s a handful you know? He’s got the bi-polar, got it from his Mom, makes him fuckin’ crazy to be around and he won’t take his meds properly cause he’s stubborn as fuck.”

Nicky grins at the obvious pride in his voice as her new acquaintance says this and she raises a stick of jerky in salute.

“I got one of those too – not the bi-polar but an equally infuriating kind of unpredictable crazy. She won’t take meds for it either, thinks she doesn’t need them. Suuuure! Great! Don’t fuckin’ take ‘em, I’ll just hang around waiting to scoop up the pieces.”

Nicky throws her hands dramatically wide and Mickey almost chokes in his eagerness to agree

“Fuckin’ right! You know, I don’t even mind that because it’s not his fault but a little gratitude? You know? Maybe, like, ‘thank you for putting up with my shit’ rather than telling me my bitch ex-wife had to pay him to come and fuckin’ visit. Asshole.”

Mickey shakes his head irritably and then sighs, rubbing his face roughly with his palms.

“But I love him. And I’m an asshole too, so fuck it. What can I do?”

Nicky moves closer to him and puts a tentative hand on his denim clad knee

“You can try until you can’t try any more. Then you have to walk away before you kill him or kill yourself. It sucks, but it’s true, kid.”

Mickey worries at a hangnail beside his thumb and mumbles

“I don’t want my life without him in it though.”

“Sometimes that’s not our call. Chin up, kid. If he’s smart and if he deserves you, he’ll sort his shit out and the two of you can drive off into the sunset in this rusty tin can.”

Mickey is sinking under the dual weight of booze and exhaustion but he manages a half smile and a vague ‘Fuck you.’ before he is completely submerged.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who have asked, this is a Gallavich fic - there will be Gallavich and plenty of it - eventually. Hang tight :) xx

Mickey wakes in the morning to find his face is covered in something that feels like cobwebs and one of his arms is trapped. He rubs a hand over his face, grunting irritably and blinking into full awareness.

“The fuck?”

Nicky is curled up against him, her ass pressed against his belly, using his left arm as a pillow. Her hair has exploded from the hood she tucked it into the night before and is all over him in a riot of red-gold tangles.

Mickey clucks his tongue against his teeth and begins to extricate himself. He hasn’t slept beside a woman since Svetlana finally accepted Ian and moved out of his bed for good and long before that she has stopped trying to cuddle up to him. Mickey simply wouldn’t tolerate more than a minute or two of awkward petting whilst she tried to arouse him into some sort of action before he would either leave or roll onto his side, turning his back on her.

Their wedding night had been the most difficult because she felt so fucking obligated to seal the deal and Mickey had just let her do whatever the fuck she wanted because his mind had been with Ian and the amazing sex they had just before he pledged himself to another.

“I’m too drunk to fuck.”

“I will help you.”

“No, just … just leave it alone.”

“No, I am your wife! I will help …”

Mickey had lain on the fake rose petal covered sheets, tux pants around his ankles, watching as Svetlana knelt over him, squeezing her breasts and shaking her ass, tugging with futile determination at his limp dick with experienced fingers. Mickey had tried to get himself hard, tried thinking of broad shoulders and narrow hips, just to get it over with. But he hadn’t been able to muster so much as a semi with Svetlana’s lips against his skin.

“Your father always manages, no matter how drunk!”

“Oh sure, by all means put that mental image in my head right now, that oughta help the situation a lot.”

Mickey had snapped and then laughed at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. He had laughed until tears trickled from the corners of his eyes, rolling down into the shell of his ears, muffling the wet sounds of Svetlana’s renewed efforts.

Eventually she had huffed in frustration and lain down next to him with a muttered Russian curse; smoothing her dress and informing him that his stupid little broken dick did not mean she was not a citizen now.

“Congratulations. You’re a fuckin’ card carryin’ apple pie eatin’ cowgirl now. Good for you.”

Mickey retorted, tugging his pants back up and rolling onto his side, closing his eyes and feigning sleep until Ian’s face swam to the forefront of his mind and carried him away into a dream.

Nicky gives a small whimper beside him, grip tightening on his jacket sleeve and Mickey loses his patience, yanking his arm out from underneath her with a sharp tug.

The air in the van is seriously fucking cold and Mickey knows the only reason he slept so well is because there was a warm body against him. He feels more rested than he has in days despite the beginnings of a hangover lurking around the edges of his eye sockets.

He needs to shower because today is the day he’s going to make his move and he wants to look as good as he can for Ian. Mickey squints into the cracked, rust flecked shaving mirror and grimaces. His hair looks fucking awful but his mug shot is all over Southside so he can hardly just walk into a barbers!

Mickey shakes his head, jaw clenched, and picks up his cigarettes from the foot of his bed. He’s fucking insane. He must be, because he is risking everything on the fucking off chance that someone who hardly ever visited him, never wrote and generally pretended he didn’t exist for over a year, might still be interested enough to run away to fucking Mexico with him.

Fuckin’ Gallagher!

If the prick had maybe shown up once in a while Mickey could have gauged what his reaction to this whole thing might be and the whole thing could have run a lot fucking smoother! On the other hand, Ian had completely ignored him and Mickey was still crazy enough to pull this sort of shit, so really what kind of signal would Mickey have actually accepted?

“You’re gonna get a lungful of filter if you’re not careful!”

Nicky is sitting up and rubbing what is left of her eyeliner into the creases of her eyes. Mickey glances down at the tiny stub of his cigarette and scowls, wiping it out against the sole of his boot in a streak of ash.

“Want one?”

“Sure. Normally I like to have coffee first but I’m guessing you didn’t pack an espresso machine when you fled the mansion, huh?”

“What the fuck are you … you know what? Don’t care. You want coffee, go out and get it your fuckin’ self.”

“Got any cash?”

“I’m not buyin’ you breakfast.”

Mickey grouches and Nicky grins broadly at him

“Sure you are. You could have frozen to death but I made the sacrifice to share my body heat with your scrawny ass.”

“You mean you decided to barge into my bed and get your fuckin’ rats nest all over my face?”

Nicky pushes her tongue into her bottom lip and gives her apparently nameless friend a long level look.

“Why are you such a moody asshole?”

“Questions like that make you a whole lotta friends or …?”

Mickey lets the question trail off as he rummages through his small pack of things looking for scissors or a razor, anything he can use to try and neaten up his hair.

“I’m going to get coffee, when I get back, you can tell me what has you all … possum again.”

Nicky shifts herself from the bed and kicks the doors open. Mickey hastily turns his back, instantly livid. There could have been a fucking patrol car out there! Whatever this bitch is running from, she clearly isn’t expecting to be found in Chicago. Careless moron! Just like Ian! Fuckin’ careless and messing with the neatness of Mickey’s life before hopping out the door and disappearing.

“Close the fucking door! Are you some sort of fuckin’ retard?”

He growls and Nicky does so, eyeing him curiously.

“Don’t want the world to see that happy smile?”

“Fuck you. You said you’re wanted? Maybe act like it.”

“Oh, like you are? You a jail bird too?”

Mickey gives up on finding the scissors and spins on his heel, grabbing Nicky by the front of her hoodie and dragging her up onto her toes in the small space

“You breathe one fuckin’ word about what you think you know, and I promise you will not have to worry about the cops finding you anymore.”

Their noses are less than an inch apart and Nicky pushes her face closer still, baring her teeth in a furious scowl

“Take your fucking hands off me while you still have them.”

Mickey tugs a little harder on her hoodie and then twists sharply, catching the knee she brings up against the flat of his thigh.

“That the best you got, bitch?”

He is looking at her intently but there is no threat of actual violence. Nicky has been around enough violent men to recognise when one is about to lash out. If anything, this kid is trying to provoke her into hurting him and whilst that is all levels of fucked up, it is actually quite reassuring.

“I asked you a fuckin’ question!”

He snaps and Nicky makes a disgusted sound at the back of her throat, rolling her eyes. She hasn’t spent a lot of time around little boys, but she knows the build up to a temper tantrum when she sees one. Best way to stop a toddler having a melt down? Give ‘em a little shock.

She throws herself forward and presses her lips to Mickey’s, flicking her tongue along his bottom lip in a deep kiss.

“What the FUCK?!”

Mickey lets go of her instantly and staggers back against the makeshift shelving, wiping his hand roughly over the back of his mouth.

“Yeah that’s what I thought. Listen, you want to get into a fight, go find someone your own size. That’s about my size but with a bit more dick attached in case you aren’t sure.”

Nicky holds her finger and thumb up, about an inch apart to highlight just how small she thinks the appendage in question must be and Mickey eyes her with something as close to bashfulness as he can get.

“Fuckin’ psycho.”

He mumbles but the fire has gone out of him and Nicky huffs an impatient breath. She has no idea why she likes this little fucker but she actually does. Nicky isn’t stupid, especially not when it comes to her own motivations, recovering from addiction, relapsing and recovering again, multiple times leaves one with a certain awareness of incentives within one’s own psyche. Nicky’s situation is currently a tiny bit fucked up. She has escaped prison and fled, via a series of trains, countless hitch-hiking and walking in her sturdy, prison issue boots, to get to Chicago. Now she is here she has no fucking clue what to do with herself and so she is latching on to compulsively take care of this nameless, heart-broken man until she can figure out what to do for herself. It’s shitty, but it’s not a needle in her arm or a view from behind bars, so it’ll do.

“How do you take your coffee? Black? White? Sweet?”

“Black. Sweet if they have the vanilla shit. Thanks.”

Mickey twitches his nose and thumbs his lower lip, which is still tingling from the kiss. Unpleasant as it was, it is the first kiss Mickey has had in quite some time and it has brought back a hundred little memories of Ian that he can’t process with someone else watching him and he really wants Nicky to leave.

“Check the door this time.”

“Uh … yeah I got that that is kinda important to you. Should I knock three times and hoot like a barn owl when I get back?”

“You should go fuck yourself, that’s what you should do.”

Mickey quips, digging a crumpled five-dollar bill out of his pants pocket and shoving it at her. At this point, Ian is filling up his mind and body so completely that he doesn’t much care if there is an entire fleet outside the van, he needs Nichols to fuck off pronto so that he can get his hands in his pants and relive every kiss that Ian ever gave him.

“Whatever. Back in a bit.”

Nicky uses the crudely cut little spyhole to peer outside and then opens the door again, hopping out lightly and closing it behind her.

Mickey flips the little plastic catch, tugging at his belt before the metallic click of the lock has even silenced. He lays back on the airbed, shoving his jeans over his hips, releasing his dick which is practically throbbing with need and letting it hover above his belly whilst he plunges a hand into his bag. He finds what he wants almost instantly and pulls the folded photo out, smoothing it carefully before holding it above his head and looking into the bright green eyes peering out of it. Ian is flipping off the camera as he always had, smirking his same smirk and looking so damn hot in his grey tee and beanie combo that Mickey can hardly stand it.

He closes his eyes and wraps his free hand around the shaft of his cock, covering the slit with his thumb. The memory of Ian’s lips against his own is so powerful he finds himself licking compulsively along the swell of his lower lip, expecting to taste the unique flavour of his redheaded lover.

Ian’s name is wrenched from his lips as his fingers apply greater pressure and his wrist begins pumping faster and harder. God! Mickey wants it hard. He wants it good and hard, he wants to be pounded into submission by Gallagher and left in a puddle at his huge fucking feet. He wants to feel his insides turn to jelly and the almost painful stretch of his flesh as he takes every inch Ian cares to give him. He wants to feel Ian’s teeth at his neck and hear the rasping struggle of his breath as he comes close to finishing. He wants to see those beautiful hands gripping his and smell the scent of him flush on the air around them.

Mickey convulses and shudders as his orgasm rocks him off the bed, his ass peeling away from the plastic with a wet sticking sound. He lies there until his heart has stopped trying to explode out of his chest, then slowly sits up, and grabs a scrap of fabric from the floor, wiping his hands and belly on it.

Mickey chucks it in the far corner and tips a little water from his bottle over his palms to get rid of the rest of his mess.

He needs to get himself fucking sorted. He’s going to show up to see Ian covered in the dirt of days on the road, his hair a matted fuckin’ mess and now stinking of stale jizz too? Fuck sake.

Mickey grabs a burner phone from his stash and punches in the number he has memorised. It’s time to get a plan together and go meet Gallagher.


	3. Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally see Ian. GALLAVICH FOR LIFE, YO!!
> 
> PS. Special mention to J_Q - Easter Eggs forever :) xx

By the time Nicky gets back to the van, stolen vodka in one pocket, stolen cookies and bananas in another and a tray of fully-paid-for-including-tip coffees in another, Mickey has a plan.

“Will you fuckin …”

Mickey glowers at the doors as Nicky hoots and does an elaborate triple knuckle-rap on the metal.

“That doesn’t sound anything like a fuckin’ owl.”

“Oh really? City boy like you heard a lot of owls in your time?”

Nicky laughs, clambering into the van and handing Mickey his cup. He looks at it and raises his eyebrows, lips pressed tightly together.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Coffee. You know? Wake up juice? Java? Old Joe?”

“I know what coffee is, this ain’t coffee.”

“What? Why?”

Nicky sips her own happily, but her eyes are dancing with mischief and Mickey is almost certain that she is being a dick.

“It looks like a fuckin’ kids toy.”

“But tastes like heaven. Oh! Open the lid! You’ll love it!”

Mickey pulls off the elaborate little white lid, embossed with shooting stars, and pulls a disgusted face at the sparkling contents.

“Whaaaat the …”

“Unicorn cafe – all the cool kids hang out there. They have these adorable little cups with the pictures on them and even the black coffee is served with edible glitter. Neat, huh?”

Mickey shakes his head, sniffing the cup cautiously.

“No. Not neat. What sort of fuckin’ numbskull wants … forget it.”

He puts the cup down disdainfully and Nicky tips her head back and laughs loudly

“You are such a grump! Jesus! I literally bought you magic unicorn coffee and you’re still mad.”

“You …? Ok, one: I bought these and I bet there is no fuckin’ change if it’s all glittery and shit. Two: this shit ain’t magic, it’s stupid crappy coffee with stupid crappy glitter in it and …”

Nicky is wheezing with laughter and Mickey gives up, shooting her a dirty look.

“Whatever.”

He picks up his cup and cautiously takes a sip. It’s strong and dark and deceptively good. He hasn’t had decent coffee in … well. Over a year.

“You like?”

“No.”

Mickey lies, but sips it again and Nicky smirks happily at him. They drink in companionable silence for a while, their earlier scuffle all but forgotten.

“Hey, you’re gonna have to get lost for a while. I got shit to do.”

Mickey says at last and Nicky nods amiably – getting lost for a while suggests having another night of shelter. She can make that work.

“Sure. What’s the plan then?”

“Huh?”

“To woo your man! Make him swoon into those muscular arms and run off into the sunset with you!”

Mickey’s lip quirks but he shrugs a little cagily

“Come on. Tell me. I have literally nothing else to do but listen to you. There is no better sounding board than that for ideas.”

Mickey hesitates and then shrugs again. The woman is clearly bat-shit crazy but she knows something is up with him and if she wanted, she could have had cops crawling all over him by now, instead she’s bought him coffee and is waving a packet of cookies in his direction. She’s not exactly a friend but she’s something.

“Okay, well I know where he lives, my brother Ig… my brother, checked that out when he got me my stuff.”

Mickey breaks off, kicking the bag by his foot which contains Ian’s photo. He would have trusted no one but Mandy or Iggy to retrieve that and was surprised and touched by the care which Iggy had packed it, tucking it neatly inside a lesbian porno DVD case.

“Right, knowing where to find him. Good start.”

Nicky nods

“Yeah, so I’m gonna swing by and wait for him to come out, then I think probably me and my brothers are gonna grab him, stick him in the back of the van and drive somewhere we can talk.”

Nicky scrunches her nose and looks at Mickey like a disappointed teacher with a student who just peed in the paint pots.

“Kidnap. You’re gonna kidnap him?”

“No … Yeah a little but it’s fine.”

Mickey rubs the back of his neck self-consciously

“He kidnapped my kid once so it’ll be like we’re even.”

“He … what? I … It doesn’t matter. OK, kidnap is not the same of borrowing sweaters, you can’t take his cause he took yours.”

Nicky says gently, handing Mickey a cookie and curling his fingers around it when he hesitates.

“I know that, but I … well I can’t just take him for a beer, can I?”

He bites into the cookie and sighs through his nose, chewing thoughtfully

“True. Yeah you are in a bit of a limited dating sphere right now but how about inviting him?”

“How?”

“A text? A call?”

Mickey shakes his head and takes another gulp of glittery coffee

“No, I can’t. I got a burner but if the … well if it was found out that he was in contact with me, it could cause some issues for him, you know?”

Mickey winces realising he is giving far too much away but Nicky was right, having a someone who actually wants to listen to what he is saying is pretty good.

“OK, so how many burners do you have? Could we get him one?”

Mickey nibbles along the length of his bottom lip, thinking. He has four, he could definitely give Ian one if he can find a way to get it to him.

“Can your brother’s give it to him?”

“Maybe. I dunno. They’re good at the heavy stuff but even … even the one who helped me scope him out just ain’t great at keeping things calm. I don’t wanna freak him out.”

Nicky opens her mouth to say something about kidnap being a little freaky for most people but stops herself. The kid is clearly batshit crazy but he’s becoming sort of a friend and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Besides he is probably only crazy when it comes to this redheaded guy and Nicky knows that feeling well.

“I could help? Take me with you, I’ll give him the burner, tell him Possum says hi and to pick up if he wants to say hi back.”

Mickey frowns but doesn’t immediately dismiss it. Nicky’s point about kidnapping is probably valid and Mickey has enough issues with how this whole thing is going without adding guilt over terrifying Ian or worse, pissing him off and making him go all stubborn-chin douchebag about it …

“Yeah … yeah OK.”

He drains the cup, tilting it upside down to get the sludgy dregs and grins at Nicky with a mouthful of golden edged teeth. She grins back a little anxiously and hands him a bottle of water, hoping he’ll swish it around a bit before looking in the mirror.

*

 

They pull up outside the Gallagher house a little while later. Mickey has fussed about his hair so much that Nicky has finally given him her beanie to wear. They still can’t find the scissors but Nicky has promised to lift some from a drug store while he’s with Ian and sort it out later.

“Which house is it?”

“That one.”

Mickey points and there is a wistful quality to his voice that makes Nicky want to pull him into a tight hug but she narrowly resists the urge.

“Okay. So what now?”

“Put your hood up, sunglasses on and get ready to move.”

“Seriously, I think it would be better for me to hand it to him. I am not a pickpocket and I will probably drop the fuckin’ thing.”

Nicky looks at the little cell in her hand. He wants her to plant it on his ex-lover but she has no idea how to go about doing that and his detailed explanation – whilst vivid and very expressive – does little to encourage her confidence.

“Just fuckin’ slip it in his pocket. He’s a big fucker and you’re tiny, you can’t miss.”

“I’m gonna miss. Like, can we just get that clear right now?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette, ignoring her nervousness as a lifetime of experience has taught him that it is the best way to make nerves go away.

The Gallagher front door opens and Ian appears, glorious in a … a fuckin’ EMT uniform? Mickey beams and thumps the steering wheel in sudden, all encompassing joy. Gallagher made something of himself! Holy fuck! Pride forms a solid, painful lump in Mickey’s throat and he blinks a few times not wanting to miss a second.

“Is that him? Shit. He’s pretty!”

“Yeah he is.”

Mickey nods watching Ian turn to lock the front door, his eyes inadvertently following the long, straight line of his back and the sweet round swell of his ass in the fitted navy pants.

Mickey looks down at his lap, there is the beginnings of an erection straining against dirty jeans and his hands gripping the wheel are grimy too.

The last visitation Ian saw him at, Mickey had bribed and intimidated his way into an extra shower and a decent razor to shave with, he’d even managed to get some hair wax for a couple of cigarettes and a jello-pot. Not the good kind he liked but still, he looked presentable even in the jumpsuit. He doesn’t look presentable now.

“Okay I’m ready …”

Nicky has her hood up and shades on and looks like a damn human fly but Mickey is suddenly paralysed with fear. He can’t see Ian like this. Not with him looking so … and Mickey looking SO …

“No … wait …”

Mickey watches with rising panic as Ian skips down the steps, pausing to check his cell phone. He is so achingly beautiful that Mickey can hardly stand it. He has filled out, looks older and more mature … he looks like a fucking man. When did that happen? When did he lose those last traces of that freckled, teenage kid who Mickey fell so damn hard for?

“Dude! He’s going! Possum! Shit!”

Nicky is tugging his arm and Mickey scrubs his hands over his face hard

“Okay … yeah okay .. fuckin’ go! GO!”

Mickey all but shoves her from the van and Nicky stumbles across the road, almost dropping the phone as he fingers slick with sweat.

“Come on, Nichols, don’t be a douche. Just … fuck … he’s big… okay. Stop talking to yourself just focus.”

Nicky bobs awkwardly left, then right looking for an opening. The red headed EMT Adonis is watching her suspiciously and in the van, it is Mickey’s turn to sigh like a disappointed teacher.

Nicky feigns right as Ian feigns left and in a panic of missing him completely she veers wildly and they slam together in a brief tussle.

The phone slips from her fingers and lands at his feet.

Shit.

Nicky has literally never been so embarrassed in front of two people who’s names she doesn’t even know and she tries to claw back a little dignity by following the plan and keeping her chin up as she walks away.

*

Mickey watches intently as Ian glances down and then at the retreating back of the hooded person. Mickey takes a deep breath, presses a button and lifts his phone to his ear. The cell beside Ian’s left foot starts ringing and he cautiously stoops to pick it up. He hesitates for a moment and then flips the lid.

Mickey feels like he is going to faint but when he speaks, his tone is nonchalant

“Miss me?”

“Mickey!”

Ian breathes the word and Mickey isn’t sure if it is a curse or a prayer. It almost doesn’t matter.


	4. Canon can suck a dick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we break, with a rather large snapping sound, from canon.  
> I hope you enjoy. This work won't have a huge amount of chapters left to come but there are a few to go so thank you to those bearing with it and joining in, it's a lot of fun to write.

Mickey gives Ian the meeting place, a time, two hours from now, and hangs up watching Ian walk down the road, an unreadable expression on his face. Mickey wants to believe it is caught between dread and excitement, with excitement holding the upper hand, but he isn’t actually sure.

As soon as Ian is gone, Mickey drives round the corner and picks up Nicky who is looking pretty damn sheepish.

“Sorry I fucked it up.”

She says as soon as she closes the van door, looking at Mickey with large, concerned eyes.

“Nah, you did fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Mickey is too distracted to give her shit and besides, she did her best and he hadn’t been much fuckin’ help, freezing like that.

“Can we swing by a drug store?”

“Why?”

Mickey asks, pulling into traffic and glancing sideways at her. She doesn’t look sick but the last thing he needs is some sort of dysentery in a van with no bathroom.

“Female stuff.”

Nicky says bluntly and Mickey cringes.

“Shit. We need to find you a place to shower and change.”

“Awww. Such a gentleman! Taking care of my woman needs.”

Nicky laughs, turning the radio on as Mickey takes one hand off the wheel to flip her off. The harsh tones of British rock band Mickey has never heard of called ‘Oasis’ fill the car and Mickey grimaces

“Jesus, they sound fuckin’ retarded. I thought English people were classy!”

“And American’s are all Abe Lincoln, huh?”

“I was the Abe Lincoln of mouth whores once.”

Mickey mumbles, he isn’t really paying attention to the conversation, his mind is a blur of red hair, navy uniform and pale hands curled lightly into fists. Nicky squints at him. It would kind of make sense if he had been a pimp, not likely to touch the goods and clearly an aggressive little fucker, but somehow she just can’t see it.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy into selling women.”

“Not selling. Renting. And to be fair, I only wanted to make sure my wife got paid properly. The rest just fuckin’ snowballed.”

Mickey pulls into the parking lot of a drug store and kills the engine, shutting off the radio. Nicky lights two cigarettes from her stash and hands him one

“Wait, your wife was literally a whore? You weren’t just being a misogynistic prick?”

“Huh?”

Mickey is distracted, checking the mirrors for any sign of cops, he wants to go in with Nicky to try and lift some scissors and shampoo, deodorant too if they have the kind he likes. Mickey discreetly sniffs himself. Fuck. He’ll take whatever they have.

“Your wife was a whore and you … pimped her out?”

“Oh. Yeah. I think she still is too. She enjoys it as much as any job and gives her the day time to spend with the kid. People think it’s a shitty thing to be, but fuck it, pays the bills. You ready to go in?”

Mickey asks tugging his sleeves over his tattooed fingers and arranging the beanie on his head to push as much hair over his face as possible, hiding his features a bit. Nicky leans forward impulsively and kisses his cheek.

“I think I might love you. You’re fucking nuts!”

“Says the bitch about to go lift tampons with a dude she met last night.”

“Yeah, so you know you’re fucked if even I think you’re crazy.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and shoves her shoulder almost affectionately

“Get the fuck out my van.”

*

The store is mostly quiet but there are a couple of ladies milling the make-up aisle and miraculously a guy who looks even sketchier than Mickey cruising near the painkillers, drawing the staffs attention like a magnet.

Mickey smiles to himself and moves fast. Scissors, deodorant, shampoo … he is about to leave when a small, familiar tub catches his eye. Hair wax. He pockets it, running his thumb along the corrugated tin edge with a contented sigh.

He considers a razor but the packets are tagged and he is risking too much for vanity as it is.

Nicky is heading toward him, practised and casual and he feels a spark of pride, like when he taught Mandy how to lift proper shit when they were kids. It took a few goes and more than one scuffle with some dipshit clerk who thought it was a good idea to try and grab her, but eventually she got the hang of it. She had been so pleased she’d lifted him a really fucking cool lighter with flames and shit running up the plastic casing. Mickey had treasured that lighter all through seventh grade.

Mickey turns smartly on his heel and heads for the doors, he passes the scanners and has one foot into the fresh air of the parking lot when alarms erupt behind him.

“FUCK!”

Nicky yells and then they are both running.

“What the fuck did you take?”

Mickey yells over his shoulder, he is outpacing her by a long stretch and misses her reply. He slams into the van door, wrenching it open and shoving the keys in the ignition before he is even in his seat.

“Get the fuck off me, man! Hey! Get off!”

Mickey turns and sees Nicky being hauled backward by the security guy who chased after them. She is putting up a good fight but there is no way she is getting loose. Mickey hesitates, glancing toward the McDonalds across the road. There is a cop cruiser at the drive in. Fuck sake!

He glances back at Nicky and the guard and squeezes his eyes shut tight. He must be crazy, he thinks, because suddenly he’s running away from the van and his fist is connecting with the security guards jaw and then he’s pulling Nicky forward, pushing her ahead of him and kicking the guard in the gut, doubling the guy over, before chasing after her.

Nicky doesn’t bother with the passenger door because the driver side is open, she lunges in and scrabbles over just as Mickey appears in the doorway and launches himself in after her. The van might be a piece of shit, Nicky thinks, but it’s shit fuelled by bad paella because it flies out of the parking lot at top speed, in a screech of foul smelling gas and they’re free.

Mickey checks the mirror a few times and slows down to regular speed as his pulse slows and he grins despite himself. He should be freaking out but it’s been a while since he had a rush like that and he feels quite elated. Nicky apparently feels the same because she tips her head back and lets out one of those awesomely loud laughs that Mickey is growing to actually like and punches his shoulder

“Shit! You really are Abe Lincoln! The Abe Lincoln of mouth whores and ex-junkie fugitives! The way you smacked that guard? Oh man!”

Nicky is cackling in malicious glee for her would-be captors demise and Mickey smiles broadly at her.

“That guy was fuckin’ DONE!”

“Yeah he was! You fucking owned him”

“Fuck yeah, bitch!”

Mickey accepts the high five Nicky offers him and then raises his eyebrows in surprise as she catches his hand and presses a kiss to his middle knuckle.

“I can’t believe you came back for me. Thank you. Really. I appreciate it, Abe.”

“Forget it.”

Mickey shakes his head, still smiling and retrieves his hand

“So what did you fuckin’ steal that set the alarms off? It better be fuckin’ good!”

“I got you a razor, but get this: I pulled the fucking tag off it with my damn teeth.”

“Then what …?”

“Only other thing I took was tampons! These assholes are tagging sanitary products now! Lower class women don’t stand a damn chance.”

“Assholes.”

Mickey agrees.

*

They park down an alley in the city, it is in a public place but quiet enough so that it doesn’t seem weird that there is a rusty old vehicle parked down there. Nicky glances at Mickey and sighs

“OK, I gotta ask it: Am I doing this in here or …”

Mickey looks confused and Nicky lifts the hem of her hoodie, revealing the stolen box of products.

“Oh shit! No, you ain’t doin’ that in here! Jesus! Go find a rest room.”

“Fine, that’s what I thought. Wait for me here?”

“Yeah ok, but hurry the fuck up, I’m meeting Ian in an hour and …”

“Ian! Hey, I got a name!”

Mickey clams up, two bright spots of colour rising in his cheeks. He had forgotten himself for a moment there and now he is eyeing Nicky warily, the camaraderie of the last hour all but forgotten.

“It’s cool, Abe. There are a fuck ton of ‘Ian’s in this world.”

Nicky tries a smile but he has gone all tight lipped and pissed looking again and she sighs in resignation.

“I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Please be here when I get back.”

Nicky hesitates and then shoulders her bag as she gets out of the van. She really wants to believe he’ll be there when she returns but there is no doubt he just spooked himself big time, and she gets the impression when it comes to fight or flight over an internal conflict, this guy chooses flight.

*

Mickey watches her disappear down the alley and grips the wheel hard. His first instinct is to drive away and leave before she gets back. He is letting her in too far, giving away too much. Knowing his wife is a Russian whore is one thing, there are hundreds of them all over Chicago; but he took her to Ian’s house and now he’s given her his name too. He’s trusting her with too much.

Mickey lights a cigarette and fishes around under his seat for the can of beer he knows is stashed there. He finds it and popped the can open with his thumb. He’s not a fuckin’ kid any more, prison taught him that lesson. It beat the lesson into him every single day he was in there. He’s twenty-three and he isn’t supposed to breathe free air until he is in his thirties. If he gets caught now, he’ll see forty inside a cell, maybe fifty. Fuck. Probably not fifty. He won’t last that long inside and he knows it. It’s not about killer instinct, Mickey has that, it will be the loneliness and the boredom that get him long before some young up and coming asshole shivs him in the showers.

And then there is Ian. If Nichol’s blabs now, that’s fine. Ian is still just an innocent bystander of the Milkovich menace but now without the kidnap element of the plan, he could be considered an accomplice. Fuck!

Mickey shakes his head. For one deranged second he imagines them being sent down together, linking hands beneath the court bench and then being taken down, put in a cell and making their happily ever after home in orange jumpsuits, growing old together in shitty contentment.

He catches the sloppy half-grin that the thought raises in the rear-view mirror and clenches his jaw, erasing all traces of the smile. Nichol’s is right, he is crazy. Gallagher makes him crazy and always has done. Though it is normally the sort of crazy that makes Mickey feel like he might have an actual stab at happiness, a feeling of rightness amidst the chaos of his life that he never felt with anyone else.

Now he is staking everything on that feeling, chasing it down even though it makes no sense to do so. Fuck love, man. Fuck fucking love! Mickey stabs his smoke out viciously in the plastic ashtray and runs a hand over his face. He better at least get one decent fuck out of Gallagher before this all goes to shit.

There is a tap on the window and Mickey leaps half out of his skin, whipping his head round to glower at Nicky’s grinning face as she tiptoes to press against the glass.

“You will not believe what I found!”

“It better be fuckin’ Jesus or Buddha or some shit because I’m about to fuckin’ kill you.”

“Better than that. Come on!”

*

Mickey looks at the LGBTQ centre doorway dubiously.

“It’s a homeless shelter kinda thing for run away LGBTQ kids or something. They got showers and for a dollar you can get towels and do laundry.”

“So?”

“We’re LGBTQ kids!” 

“What even is that?”

Mickey frowns, confused, and Nicky rolls her eyes. She can see her breath on the Chicago air and really just wants to shower, change, maybe mooch some toast, and just generally get out of the cold for a while.

“Jesus, Abe. Catch up to the times! Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans, Queer.”

“Oh fuck that! I’m not goin’ in that house of freaks.”

“Seriously?”

Nicky frowns up at him and pinches his leg making him jump

“Ow! Fuckin’ what?”

“You’re a gay ex-pimp with a whore ex-wife and a penchant for kidnapping ex- lovers. People in glass houses, huh?”

“Whatever. Why are we here?”

Mickey makes an impatient gesture, rubbing at his thigh and Nicky tips her head back groaning in frustration

“These places don’t ask too many questions. It goes with the territory. You can go in shower and make nice for your man, I can wash myself to a suitable standard of hygiene and then we can go.”

Mickey is clearly tempted but he hesitates and glances down at Nicky, folding his arms protectively across his chest.

“Okay, so do you have to … like … prove you’re gay or whatever? I’m not wearin’ a fuckin’ dress.”

“That makes two of us, let’s go.”

Nicky tugs him forward and Mickey squeezes the little tin of hair wax in his pocket for reassurance as he takes a deep breath and follows her up the steps into the warm.

*

“Hi there!”

A friendly young guy smiles at them as they step into the reception room and Nicky is instantly charm-personified, which is a good thing because Mickey is instantly all raised-eyebrows and flatly unimpressed mouth.

“Hi! My friend and I are currently between accommodations and we just stumbled across this place. Any chance we can take a shower, maybe wash our clothes and get a bite to eat?”

“Oh, we’re specifically a shelter for LGB…”

“Yeah, yeah. We fuckin’ know. I’m a homo and she’s a muff-diver.”

Mickey snaps irritably. He doesn’t want to talk to this curly haired little douche with his trendy little chin fluff beard, he wants to shower and, cut his hair and go find Ian.

“Cool, uh … it’s just …”

The curly guy looks like he feels kinda sorry for them and Nicky sees her opening. Watching her work is like watching a child prodigy on the cello. She is uncanny in her ability to be at once innocent and wise, humble and yet flaunting their pitiful situation with almost shameless abandon. She is a master of her art and Mickey knows the curly guy is fucked.

“OK, listen. Go ahead and shower, we do have to do some paperwork but maybe we can do it after. I have some calls to make, if you’re here when I’m done, we can do the forms.”

“Thank you so much … uh …”

“Trevor.”

“Trevor! Great! I’m Lorna and this is Abe. We appreciate your help.”

Trevor gives her a smile, glances anxiously at Mickey and then says

“Showers are just through there.”

And steps into what they can only presume is his office, closing the door lightly behind him. Mickey sniffs and takes off his belt.

“Give me your belt, come on, quickly.”

“What? Why?”

Mickey looks at her incredulously and gestures towards the door

“So we can tie him up and make sure he doesn’t call the cops.”

Nicky wants to slap him upside the head but doesn’t want to get into a full on scuffle so contents herself with a stern shake of her head

“No. Absolutely not. I just talked him into free showers, you are not turning this into some weird hostage situation.”

“So I just get in the shower and wait for the cuffs to clamp on my fuckin’ wrists?”

Mickey scoffs, licking his lips and glancing between the office door and the main entrance.

“It’s not that kind of party, sweetie.”

Nicky smiles with more patience than she feels and then sighs.

“Okay, fine. You go shower, I will stand guard and then we’ll switch.”

Mickey reluctantly rethreads his belt and does as she says. Following stupid suggestions is a damn recurring theme of his life.

*

Within fifteen minutes he is clean, shaved, Nicky has cut his hair and he is stood in the small male only changing room, a towel wrapped around his waist, fiddling with the wax in his hair in the mirror. He has thirty minutes until he is due to meet Ian. He skipped the docks part of the plan, Iggy was a little pissed about the wasted morning of waiting for Mickey’s call but it’s fine. His brother is one of the most laid back people Mickey knows until it comes to an actual fight. Terry used to think he was retarded or something but Iggy is just that sort of guy. Easy going.

He simply told Ian to meet him at ‘Their spot’. If they end up in different places, that will be a whole other shit-show but if Ian has half a damn brain, he’ll be at the High School bleachers and if not, if Mickey finds him somewhere else, he’ll kick his ass. The thought of Ian loitering awkwardly in the Kash and Grab freezer actually makes Mickey snort with laughter and he hastily finishes up with his hair. There is an abandoned tshirt that looks pretty clean and about his size on a hook and Mickey takes it without hesitation. His own shirt has dirt and jizz on it and it’s hardly a fair trade but it’ll have to do. He gingerly kicks his own shirt into the corner and swaps before finishing getting dressed.

*

Nicky is talking to the curly guy, Trevor, when Mickey comes out and she whistles appreciatively.

“Damn Abe! You scrub up real nice!”

“Yeah you do actually.”

Trevor grins and Mickey grunts, nodding vaguely in his direction.

“Thanks, ah, I gotta go. You coming?”

“Nah. I’m gonna hang here a bit. You go. I know where to find you.”

There is no mention of forms or signing or anything that would make Mickey need to think about killing Trevor for an easy life, so he nods to Nicky, picks up his jacket and heading out the door.

“I think he might have just stolen my shirt.”

Trevor says mildly and Nicky nods sagely

“Yeah. Probably. Looks good on him though.”

“Yeah it does.”

Trevor nods back. They clink coffee mugs like old friends and Nicky settles back into her chair, pondering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TREVOR!!! OMG.   
> Also I don't know if where Trevor works is actually a shelter or more just an info centre. For my purposes, it has showers and questionable rules about walk-ins. Let's roll with it. :)


	5. Once Upon a Time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a re-imagining of 'THAT' scene. xx

Ian’s feet seem to know where he’s going before he has even fully decided to go there. It feels as inevitable as floating in a slightly stagnant pool amongst the autumn leaves. As inevitable as stepping from a stage to kiss his lover under the beams of fifty flashing strobe lights whilst the music insisted he make his move. As inevitable as fingers grasping tight around shelving in the freezer a convenience store as two boys fall just a little bit in love.

The track is dusty and the hems of his uniform pants are turning a dusky yellow as his heels kick it up. The bleachers loom ahead and Ian braces himself for whatever might come next. The last time he saw Mickey he had inked himself with that stupid fucking misspelling of Ian’s name and looked tired, sad and ill – it had been as if Mickey was mirroring what Ian felt on the inside but projecting it across his skin. It had been awful. It had been cowardly not to go back, but Ian just could not face seeing him that way and eventually he had convinced himself that he was just trying to move on until the white lie became a black hole. He had been able to crawl into it and hide there until the cops told him Mikhailo Alexandr Milkovich had escaped, then the universe got swallowed.

Ian slows his step a little and then stops, taking a few calming breaths. Mickey might just want to have one last fistfight to settle the matter of Ian’s absenteeism and if so then fine, Ian could use the rush of it and the release because he has far too many emotions swirling around. If fists can say ‘I miss you’, ‘I’m sorry’ ‘I love you’ then Ian will have to hope he can make the language work. 

*

Mickey sees Ian coming and smiles to himself. He is relieved, nervous as Hell, but relieved. He is also pleased that Ian knows exactly where ‘their spot’ is. It would have sucked if he had got that wrong, like the good times had meant nothing too.

Mickey runs a hand lightly over his hair and smooths the fabric of his stolen shirt. It is a bit small on him. He is skinny but what is left is mostly muscle and his shoulders and chest are a bit bulkier than they used to be.

He pulses his front teeth against his bottom lip a few times, as Ian draws to a stop and closes his eyes. If he turns around and walks away now, Mickey is probably going to chase him down and beat the living shit out of him. It would be a really terrible way to end things but he means to have his hands on Ian Gallagher at least once more in his life one way or another and he is almost too strung out to care how.

However, Ian is not walking away, he is blinking into the sunlight and striding forward, faster now, all set chin and creased brow. Determined.

Mickey snorts to himself and squares his own shoulders. They are both as ready as they are ever going to be.

*

There are often moments in life that get misplaced in the large pockets of other, seemingly more significant moments. Then, after a suitable period of time and consideration, they are unearthed.

It is what makes detective novels such a thrill – the footprint, barely mentioned, was the greatest clue of all! A-Ha!

It is when these little pocket-moments stay hidden that life can veer off course. When people miss the clues, forget the mirrored reflections and don’t check the background of photographs.

Often in romantic attachments, these oversights spell disaster. Other times they are the only reason a semblance of love survives at all. It is nearly impossible to tell what the outcome will be until the pocket is emptied and the truths are all laid bare. An explosion or a whimper? An embrace or a rejection? A life or a death? Who can ever know? However, without looking, would there be any point to continuing anyway?

Here is what happens when the pocket of moments Ian had carried around with him is roughly shaken and dumped before his waking eyes into the sand beneath the striped light of the bleachers.

In four pumping heartbeats, a raw emotion he had forgotten the pull of, rushes back into his veins, crashing over his better judgement like white rapids over ancient rock.

His senses overload, scramble, and refuse to synchronise correctly.

He sees dimples appear beside a perfect smile and his lips tingle as if pressed against the tiny indentations.

He tastes the faint tang of sweat as he remembers the touch of work-roughened fingertips.

He hears the soft voice and smells the scent of home in the abrasive, tough-guy mid-western drawl.

He sees the sky reflected in tired blue eyes and despite the brilliant day above, somehow the depths of those irises are more real than any vista Ian has ever known.

For Mickey, the opposite is true. His senses align completely. The tiny details he has ruminated on for nearly twelve months, committing to memory, storing away for the years ahead like a small burrowing creature carefully hoarding the food it needs to survive, suddenly zoom outwards and he takes in the whole with a feeling like being plunged into icy water to break a deadly fever. It burns his skin but relieves his mind.

Mickey loses sight of individual strands of gold and cinnamon, seeing instead the flaming perfection of Ian’s hair as his cowlick blows forward in the breeze.

He slips away from the tiny scar that puckers the edge of Ian’s left brow and notices instead the chiselled planes of a man grown, utterly breath-taking in his nearness.

A shard of light ignites the shaky smile Ian is giving him and Mickey sets aside the troubled boy he knew so well and prepares himself to meet this new man and welcome all his complexities. 

They stare at each other across the distance of a few feet and under each other’s scrutiny; there is no space for the kudos of uniforms, or the stigma of aged ink etched into skin. They are the same.

*

Ian moves first, he isn’t sure if he means to do violence or cradle Mickey’s face between his hands, but Mickey spares him the decision by bridging the rest of the gap and gripping the back of Ian’s head, pulling him down to his shoulder.

Ian grips fistfuls of his shirt and buries his face in the soft, clean skin of Mickey’s neck, breathing him in. He is at once thankful and furious that Mickey still knows exactly what he needs even before he does.

“You fucking broke out of jail!”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid. You’re a stupid mother fucking asshole!”

He mumbles and feels Mickey’s chest vibrate with laughter against him.

“Always have been, man. You only just realised it?”

“If they catch you …”

“If they catch me, they catch me.”

Mickey shrugs as Ian straightens and stares down at him, his face contorted in sudden anger at how seemingly blasé Mickey is about his life.

“You only had seven years to go! They’ll put you away for life for this!”

He yells shoving Mickey’s chest a sudden, rough movement that startles the shorter man, although Mickey shoves back instinctively and harder than Ian expected, unbalancing them both.

“Fuck you! ‘Only’ Seven years? Do you know how fuckin’ long that is when you’re locked in a cell with some fucker who screams in his sleep? Hmm? No. You fuckin’ don’t so shut the fuck up.”

“Then you shouldn’t have tried to kill my sister!”

“Oh! Fuck off! Who gives a shit about Sammi? Her retarded fuckin’ kid? He probably wouldn’t even notice she’d gone as long as his slop was served on time!”

Mickey spits and Ian throws up his hands in frustration

“This is so typical of you! Everything is a bitchy quip or a threat! You never speak like a normal person. How can anyone talk to you?”

Mickey sucks his teeth irritably and looks away. Ian scrubs a hand down his face. He doesn’t lose his shit this easily. This isn’t him anymore; hiding under the bleachers, yelling insults and never sure if he is about to fuck or fight or both and in who knows which order. He has ordered his life neatly … Hell! Trevor is a big enough fucking distraction and Ian doesn’t even … well … it’s not the same intensity of feeling he has with Mickey that’s for sure.

“What do you want Mickey?”

“You. I want you.”

Mickey looks up at him and Ian shakes his head minutely. This is a gift but he can’t take it, he just can’t. Mickey ignores the gesture, he came here to lay out a plan and he’s going to lay it out if it kills him.

“I’m gonna get some stuff together and head south, to Mexico. I want you to come with me.” 

“Run away with you? To Mexico?”

Ian gives a small laugh devoid of amusement and Mickey scuffs his toe through the dirt trying to keep himself together. What did he really expect? Ian has a life, a future, a fuckin’ plan of his own and Mickey is asking him to throw it all away or at least toss it in the air and take a chance on it landing right and giving him nothing to hang those hopes on.

Maybe once upon a time that was alright for Ian Gallagher but it’s clearly not anymore and Mickey steps forward, determined to speak at least this once like a ‘normal person’ might speak.

He smooths the collar of Ian’s shirt and brushes his thumb lightly along the line of his jaw. Ian doesn’t pull away and Mickey sees him sway onto the balls of his feet, wanting to be closer but holding his ground. Protecting himself from past failures and future loss and he understands exactly how Ian feels but he hasn’t risked everything to just walk away without trying to communicate some of what is in his heart, the way Ian had once wanted him to do. Once upon a fucking time.

“I thought a lot, about you, inside. You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do? Hmm? What can I do?”

Ian feels the words catch in his throat and shakes his head, blinking as Mickey’s face blurs behind the veil of his tears. He blinks them away and manages to keep eye contact with Mick through sheer bloody force of will.

It is all that Ian can manage. Nothing else will come and Mickey gives him a sympathetic smile, patting his cheek softly, he knows this feeling all too well and if he hadn’t had weeks and months to prepare for this, he’d be fucking speechless too. What can anyone really be expected to say when confronted with their hearts deepest desire and most ardent fear all rolled into one familiar human package? Ian managed to look him in the eye. It’s more than Mickey could have done.

“Think about it, alright?”

Mickey needs to leave. If he stays, he’s going to kiss him or beg him or both. And that ain’t fair. If Ian had sprung this shit on him, Mickey would probably have lost his shit by now and Ian has refrained from doing that, only by a damn thread looking at the set of his shoulders when he arrived, but still. He owes Ian time to process and make his own mind up, too many fuckin’ people have tried to tell him what to do, be or feel over the years and Mickey doesn’t want to be one of them.

“How will I find you?”

Ian asks, his voice wavering just a little. He knows Mickey is about to walk away, he can see it in the wide legged stance, the turn of his hips and the fear in his eyes. He doesn’t know if he’ll see Ian again, but he’s going to leave anyway.

Of course he is! That is Mickey, he does not force his feelings onto people, he never even seems to know if it’s alright to have them, that was always Ian’s role. It would be his role now if he even had a damn clue what he was feeling.

Mickey could have shown up with a knotted snag of beard and greasy long hair worn in a fucking ponytail, Ian wouldn’t have cared as long as he was still himself. And he is, he really fucking is and it’s too much.

“Look up.”

Mickey smiles as he walks back toward the dusty field track.

Ian glances upwards and feels along the bar, finding the phone almost instantly. He is slightly stunned at just how well Mickey positioned them both and then, after a second, Ian isn’t stunned at all. It’s Mickey and he’s a planner. Always has been. Ian would have known that instantly once upon a time.

Ian loiters until his nerves stop skittering around and he can think clearly again, replaying the last few minutes over and over in his head, committing them to memory.

It is only as he walks back toward the road, following Mickey’s footsteps, that he realises Mickey was wearing a shirt just like the one Trevor had worn last night. It looked better on Mickey. The thought isn’t welcome and makes Ian scowl but it’s true and Ian doesn’t try to push it away.

Instead he decides to go home, get changed and take his boyfriend lunch. He can think about Mickey later once his thoughts are more centered.


	6. My boyfriend.

It could have gone better. It could have gone a lot fuckin’ worse.

This is what Mickey thinks as he adjusts his shades and tugs his beanie cap over his ears in the rear view mirror of the van. His eyes are stinging and his fingers keep twitching but he is not about to fuckin’ cry over something that was not an absolute disaster. Ian came, Ian was interested enough to ask how to find him and he got to hold him again, even if it was the last time, Mickey had that to cling to.

Nicky had been right about the kidnap, that would have been a stupid idea and at least this way Mickey knows that Ian chose to come, unlike fuckin’ visitation … Mickey frowns into the distance and thinks that if he does run away with Ian, he’s going to give him at least one solid blow over the lack of visits whilst he was inside. Maybe not in the face and definitely not in the balls, but he’s going to hit him somewhere for it. Possibly a dead leg. Maybe an arm.

He sees Ian leave the bleachers and considers following him but figures he’s done enough creepy ass shit today already. The phone was a cool fuckin’ touch though. Planting it in the exact spot over Ian’s head, like some fuckin’ magic trick? Damn!

Mickey grins to himself as he rolls out of the parking lot, drumming his fingers happily on the wheel. He kind of wishes he’d done the same thing with a roll of Trojans but it would probably have just got him the Chin-Face again and one of those judgey looks that Gallagher is so good at.

Mickey parks in the same alley as before and chances a trip into a convenience store to grab a new pack of smoke and a packet sandwich which looks disgusting but compared to prison food is actually alright. The clerk, a middle aged Hispanic lady, doesn’t even glance up from her magazine except to hand him a couple of dollars in change which is heartening. Mickey had forgotten how easy it is to be anonymous in a city. Dress regular, don’t be too loud, don’t swear and don’t ask questions. You follow those rules and nobody gives a fuck who you are or what you’re doing.

He wonders if he should actually be going back into the House of Horrors – for all he knows that Trevor guy sussed Nichols out and called the cops. He loiters outside, on the opposite side of the road and checks out the vehicles that are parked. None of them have the hallmarks of an unmarked cop car. No one goes in and a couple of grungy looking teens come out, smoking and chatting about some band. Mickey hovers a few minutes more, has a cigarette and then, blowing smoke left and right in a hazy cloud, crosses the street and bounds up the steps.

There are a few more teens milling about inside and Mickey frowns at one who tries to bog him out.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

He snaps and the boy looks away quickly, tucking one strand of lilac hair behind his ear.

“Hey! Here’s my sunshine!”

Nicky leans round from behind another kid in washed out denim jeans and jacket combo and waves at Mickey

“I’d recognise that sweet voice anywhere. Abe, this is Dylan and Patsy.”

“Whats up?”

Mickey nods curtly to the two teens and then tongues his lip impatiently.

“You waitin’ for something?”

“Huh?”

“Get your ass up, we gotta go.”

“Can’t. I’m doing a trial shift.”

Nicky beams proudly and Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in dual surprise and annoyance

“You kidding me? You got a fuckin’ job?”

“It’s a trial, it might not work out but so far I’m doin’ okay. Sit down, I …”

“I don’t wanna sit down. I …”

“Abe! Hey! How’s it going?”

Trevor claps a hand on his shoulder and Mickey shrugs him off, annoyed that he didn’t hear him coming as much as he is annoyed with the over familiarity

“You gave her a job?”

“A trial.”

Trevor and Nicky say simultaneously and both laugh. Mickey lifts his upper lip in a sneer and shrugs

“You just let anyone work with vulnerable queer kids? She could be a fuckin’ Westboro nutjob under cover!”

“I kinda doubt that.”

Trevor places a hand on Mickey’s shoulder again and this time Mickey only has to glance at it for Trevor to get the idea and move his hand, swiftly.

“Listen, Abe, I wanna catch up with you about something but I just gotta make a quick call.”

Trevor makes one of those awkwardly casual finger-gun pointing gestures and hurries away, leaving Mickey pressing his tongue into the corner of his lip and giving Nicky a look of absolute incredulity that she is voluntarily spending more time with the guy than absolutely fuckin’ necessary.

“He’s dorky but he’s sweet.”

“He’s a fuckin’ weirdo. Seriously, we gotta go. I don’t wanna talk to that guy again.”

Nicky stands up with a sigh and walks Mickey over to the far corner of the room away from the kids.

“Listen. I gotta see this out but later I want to hear all about your shit. Don’t be jealous.”

“You’re not gonna work here!”

Mickey frowns and Nicky shrugs

“I might. New start and all that. Besides, I don’t think there is room for three in your van.”

She gives him a bright smile but Mickey thumbs his lip guiltily and shrugs his shoulders against the fabric of his stolen shirt.

“I wasn’t just gonna leave you on the side of the road.”

“And that’s sweet but if I have half a shot of something here, I have to try. For me. Okay?”

Mickey runs a hand over his hair and nods

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’m not your keeper.”

“No you’re …”

Nicky breaks off frowning over Mickey’s shoulder.

“What the fuck?”

She murmurs as Mickey swings round just in time to see the office door close

“Cops?”

“No … I … sorry, man. Just tired. I thought I saw someone but I’m being crazy.”

“You ok? You haven’t got some weird tranny flu have you?”

Mickey glances around suspiciously at the kids hanging out, barely registering the playful punch Nicky gives him.

“Don’t be a dick. These kids are just like you and me, but young and scared.”

Mickey is about to give a sort of half-assed apology when Trevor opens the office door and walks towards him all smiles and chin-fluff.

“Abe! Ok, so one thing, that is my shirt and I will trade you it for the one you left behind, freshly laundered but not ironed.”

He is a charming asshole and Mickey half-smiles, accepting the neatly folded shirt that Trevor holds out to him

“Thanks and sorry abou…”

Mickey stops mid-sentence and stares past Trevor to the tall, astonished looking redhead framed in his office doorway.

Ian blinks, Mickey blinks, Nicky grimaces, Trevor smiles.

“Oh! Guys, this is my boyfriend – Ian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooohhh sheeeeeee----iiittt.


	7. Chapter 7

“Your fuckin’ what?”

Mickey looks slowly at Trevor and then back to Ian and gives a small humourless snort, tongue firmly in his cheek, scratching the back of his neck.

“My …uh … boyfriend?”

Trevor lifts the word in a question, glancing between the two men.

“Do you … do you know each other?”

Mickey raises his eyebrows at Ian, who is completely frozen to the spot and doesn’t seem to have even heard Trevor’s question. When Ian doesn’t speak Mickey nods to himself and then grins brightly at Trevor, a smile that is a menacing as it is beautiful.

“Here, take your fuckin’ shirt and shove it up your fuckin’ ass.”

Mickey tugs the too small tee over his head, balls it up and shoves it into Trevor’s arms, hard. Trevor’s eyes flick to the poorly done tattoo on Mickey’s chest and flare wide.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh! This? Don’t worry man, won’t be there long. I can get that shit covered real quick.”

Mickey is still smiling but it’s getting more stretched and Nicky takes a deep breath before putting herself between the two men.

“Hey, put your shirt on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah? You fuckin’ quittin’ your job already?”

Mickey looks down at her, eyes wild and slightly unfocussed but not yet glassy and Nicky is willing him to hold it together until they get outside. It will be easier on his pride if he can hold it together until they are away from the redhead.

“Yeah, man. Fuck this freak show, huh?”

Nicky nudges the crushed shirt in his fist and Mickey quickly tugs it over his head. Ian is still rooted to the spot, his jaw clenched so hard that Mickey can see the muscles standing out starkly against the pale skin. Mickey shakes his head at him. He’s at a loss for words too. He doesn’t mind that Ian has been fucking other dudes … okay, he does mind, but it’s not exactly a shock. But a boyfriend? A fuckin’ committed relationship? Yeah, he minds that. He minds that very fucking much.

Trevor begins to reach out to touch Mickey’s shoulder, offer some sort of comfort or maybe an apology, but as his fingers linger close enough to feel the frantic heat pouring off of the older man, Mickey’s hand comes up and catches his wrist, twisting it slightly in a way that sends shudders of diluted pain up and down Trevor’s entire arm.

“Touch me again, and it will be the last time you use this fuckin’ hand. Do you hear me?”

Mickey’s voice is completely calm, as if he is simply asking a passing stranger for the time. Trevor nods and Mickey lets him go. A little voice at the back of his mind is telling him he cannot afford any trouble. He cannot make a scene, cannot make a fuss. Blend in, mingle, and escape.

“Abe? C’mon. Let’s just go.”

Nicky risks a hand on his forearm and Mickey nods curtly.

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

He snaps, barging Ian with his shoulder, just for the satisfaction of knocking the fucker a little off balance to make up for the chaos he has just shoved Mickey into.

The shock of the contact seems to break the stupor because Ian lunges clumsily after Mickey, hand outstretched, a strangled noise coming from the back of his throat.

“Mickey …”

Mickey half turns but Nicky gets there first and pushes Ian’s hand away firmly.

“No. Not now. You got a phone, use it! Later.”

She adds giving him a stern look that reminds him of Fiona and stops him shoving her aside to get to Mickey, who seems to consider Nicky more than able to deal with the one again mute Gallagher and is resolutely headed down the steps and out the building.

*

“GOD DAMN … HIM? FUCKIN’ CURLY FUCKIN’ FUCK!”

Nicky flinches as another bottle smashes against the wall and sighs, taking a healthy bite out of her burrito. The insults have not been the most creative and this latest is one of the worst but that’s fine. Nicky has been guarding his phone, after wrestling it away from him before he could smash it, and it has rung three times. Apparently, this Ian guy likes short men and drama because anyone with an ounce of sense would know that ‘later’ meant hours, not minutes.

The abandoned building is clearly familiar to Abe/Mick. He went there without hesitation and there are old beer cans and bottles littered around as well as a decent amount of graffiti. Beside Nicky’s head there is a love heart with ‘I’ on one side and ‘M’ on the other and she’s not a gambling woman but if she was …

“He couldn’t wait even two years? Said he’d wait eight and couldn’t fuckin’ manage two!”

“A person’s gotta fuck, Abe. You know that.”

“Quit calling me that. You heard him and don’t pretend you didn’t. It’s Mickey.”

“Ha! Mickey and Nicky. What a hoot!”

Nicky toasts him with her can of beer and Mickey huffs out an impatient breath.

“This a fuckin’ joke to you?”

“No but are you sayin’ you never banged anyone in the joint?”

“Course I did but they didn’t mean anything!”

“Maybe a boyfriend doesn’t mean anything to Ian?”

Nicky shrugs and then seeing the murderous look on Mickey’s face adds

“Not that you didn’t mean anything but you seem to think the term ‘boyfriend’ is for life. For some people it is, but maybe not for him. Maybe for him it’s just what you call the person you’re banging after a while.”

“Like that fuckin’ paki queerbo Kash. That fucker was married with a couple damn kids and Ian still called him his boyfriend.”

Mickey wrinkles his nose at the thought of that old pervert and grabs another beer

“Ugh. Again with the race hate and the homophobia – I know you’re upset but do you have to?”

“What the fuck does it matter?”

“It matters because it makes you sound like an ignorant asshole.”

“Like I give a shit.”

Mickey mumbles but looks vaguely abashed and stops smashing shit, choosing instead to sit down next to Nicky who scowls at him but moves on

“Anyway weren’t you married with a kid?”

“Yeah but that was while me and Ian were together, not before, and I’m not twenty years older than him and I wasn’t his boss which made it even fuckin’ creepier that Kash started that shit.”

Mickey lists these apparent wins off on his fingers and Nicky nods, deciding it is a knot that is not really worth unpicking. They sit quietly for a couple of minutes both thinking.

“It took me fuckin’ years to call him my boyfriend.”

Mickey says softly, playing with the ring on his beer can, spinning it until it comes away in his hand.

“It’s a bigger deal for you maybe. I bet he was ready a lot quicker, huh?”

“Yeah, no, I mean, he did want to and all … I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Mickey does know. He knows how badly Ian wanted to call him his boyfriend for all that time before Mickey was able to do it. Asshole has always loved labeling shit. Always wanting everything to fit into a nice little box.

“Still shouldn’t fuckin’ have a boyfriend out here though.”

“Maybe or maybe not. Eight years is a long time to wait, even if you love someone.”

“Fuck love.”

Mickey snaps and drains his can, tossing it across the room with a hollow rattle.

“He’s calling again.”

Nicky glances at the burner phone by her side and Mickey looks across but then hastily looks away again, frowning.

“You want me to tell him to fuck off or come over?”

“Just … leave it. I don’t need to hear him tell me it’s over.”

“Might not be you he’s over with.”

Nicky shrugs and holds the phone out to Mickey. They watch it until it stops vibrating and then Nicky places it by her side again.

“He won’t come with me.”

Mickey’s voice is small but firm and Nicky pats his leg reassuringly

“He might. You have come this far. You might as well hear what he has to say.”

Mickey worries at his thumbnail with his teeth and glances over at Nicky as the phone vibrates again.

“Go ahead. I’ll give you some space.”

She hands it over and stands up, wondering if the place will still be in a similar state of disrepair or completely fucking destroyed by the time she gets back.

*

“Mick?”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“What the fuck do y…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“No, seriously. What are you sorry for? Cheatin’ on me or …”

“I wasn’t … I don’t know. I’m just sorry, okay?”

“What did you tell him about me?”

“That it’s complicated.”

“Oh fu…”

“And that I love you.”

“…”

“Mickey?”

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well are you gonna say it back?”

“No.”

“What the fuck, Mickey?”

“You wanna meet or what?”

“Where?”

“I’ll call you back.”

*

Nicky pokes her head around the doorway and smiles.

“Safe to enter?”

“Stupid fuckin’ question.”

Mickey answers gruffly but he’s looking happier and Nicky winks at him

“Hey, you’re a scary little fucker when you’re mad. All crazy eyes and heavy tongue – like you could do some serious fuckin’ damage if you wanted.”

“I don’t hit chicks.”

“I remember, a proper gent, but still. Made me edgy so I got donuts.”

“Jesus! Do you ever quit eating?”

Mickey frowns but licks his lip. It’s been a while since he had a donut.

“What kind?”

“You will not believe it …”

Nicky’s eyes are bright and she’s giving him that Gallagher-esque smile again.

“UNICORN SPRINKLES!”

“Ugh! What … why? Fuck sake!”

Mickey pulls a face but peers into the box and takes on with blue and purple icing on it.

“I think they got jelly in the middle but …”

“Not rainbows? Fuck it. I don’t want it then.”

Mickey jokes, his spirits instantly lifted by the insane amount of sugar in the first bite.

“Ha! Second time today I made you happy with my love of unicorns.”

“You don’t love them, you just love that it pisses me off.”

This is a more astute observation than Nicky had credited him with the ability to make and she beams widely.

“True. So what is the verdict with Red? Do we hate him or kind of think he’s okay or …?”

“Both. I dunno. Told the curly fuck that he loves me.”

“Shit. Well too bad for Trevor I guess.”

“Don’t mean they broke up.”

“Means they should!”

Nicky snaps and Mickey raises his eyebrows in surprise but doesn’t comment. She doesn’t talk about herself much and Mickey doesn’t want to know. It’s not that he doesn’t care but his skill set has never lain in the realms of patient ear or agony aunt so it would probably just be a waste of her time trying to tell him anyway.

“So when are you gonna meet up, bang, fight, whatever you gotta do?”

“Well I was gonna meet him tonight but where would you go? Van’s not all that big and definitely not fuckin’ private …”

“Make him book a room somewhere.”

“Huh?”

Nicky rolls her eyes and then casts her hand out as if painting a scene for him

“A decent room somewhere. Fuck in an actual bed! Take a shower! … Keep the key card and let me in in the morning so I can take a shower. Order pizza!”

“The cops already questioned him …”

“He’s South Side too right? You Chicago types seem resourceful.”


	8. Gentle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW (and the next one REALLY ain't gonna be.) :)

“How long are you gonna leave him waiting?”

“I dunno. Until I clear you outta smokes most likely.”

Mickey shrugs and grabs another card from the pile. Nicky rolls her eyes and lightly tosses the rest of her pack into his lap.

“There. Congratulations. Now go do whatever it is that you guys do. Go claim your man.”

“He’s not my man.”

Mickey snaps, toying with one folded corner of silver foil at the edge of the box. He’s been playing cards with Nicky for nearly four hours and he knows that Ian has been at the hotel for at least three and a half of those because that was when the first text arrived telling Mickey the address, the room number and the fake name to use.

“Oh no, definitely. I think Trevor might be the one for him. That’s most likely why he booked a room for you two within minutes of you telling him to, dashed across town to get here and has been calling you constantly.”

“Fuck off.”

Mickey mutters but his heart isn’t in it. Truth be told he’s actually just really nervous to go in there and face what he knows is going to be the final show down with Ian Gallagher. Either they will work their shit out and make this thing official or they will go their separate ways and most likely never see each other again.

“He’s gonna be pissed as Hell that you’ve left him waiting so long in there.”

Nicky sing-songs her voice in that annoying way that Mandy used to use on him when they were playing video games and Mickey musters up a pretty good glare.

“Let him be fuckin’ pissed then. Like I give a shit! Asshole deserves to sweat it out.”

“Yeah but what if he sweats too much and decides he needs a cooler climate? Quit being a tropical bitch and go in there before it’s too late!”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I compulsively take care of others when I can’t take care of myself.”

Nicky winks at him and reaches over to take a cigarette from the pile at Mickey’s feet.

“And because it’s like living in a TV show. You love him, you hate him, you want him so badly it’s gonna kill you if you don’t get him … shit. It’s primetime worthy, man.”

Mickey flips her off and stuffs a few of the cigarettes in the box before grabbing his beanie, which is really Nicky’s beanie, and his dark glasses.

“Probably just want me outta here so you can flick your bean all over everything anyway.”

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna use your stick shift to get off and wipe it up with YOUR favourite vest for a change.”

“That’s what you get for leaving your shit all over someone else’s van. Anyway I already said I was sorry.”

Mickey shrugs, his eyes flicking guiltily to the little scrap of black vest that Nicky had fished out from behind the make-shift shelving.

“Still gross. Now please go away and remember, I want a blanket, a shower …”

“Pillows and tiny soaps … yeah, I got it.”

Mickey hates being rushed but Nicky’s quip about Ian leaving has made him prickly.

“And be gentle. You ever watch Beauty and Beast as a kid?”

“Yeah … I guess. That the one with the fuckin’ rose?”

“Yes and the talking teapot and candlestick. I’m the teapot, you’re the beast and he’s …”

“I know.”

Mickey says flatly, his heart already fluttering at the thought of emerald eyes and gorgeously freckled skin.

“Right. And the teapot tells the beast to be gentle because that is what beauty responds to. Be gentle, Abe.”

Nicky squints through the spy hole and then rests her hands on Mickey’s shoulders.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Mickey gives her a very small smile and shoves the van doors open. He crosses the parking lot quickly and enters the hotel. It’s basic, clean and discreet and once he gives the name Ian has supplied he is offered a worn keycard, an easy smile and pointed toward the elevator.

*

Mickey makes an effort not to fidget too much in case he draws attention to himself but his fingers drum nervously against his thigh and he realises that he is making a sort of low humming noise at the back of his throat.

He exits the elevator on the fourth floor and stares down the rows of identical doors. A little gold edged sign states that room 409 is to his right. Mickey hesitates outside the door. Gentle. How the fuck is he supposed to be gentle? He’s never been the most patient person in the world and after this morning … shit. Well they’ll just have to figure it as they go because if Mickey waits any longer he’s going to bail.

He removes his cap and glasses, swipes the key-card and pushes the door open. There is a furiously snarled question that Mickey doesn’t have time to process before a familiar fist wraps in his shirt and drags him into the room and he is launched unceremoniously across it and sent sprawling onto the bed.

*

“What the fuck?!”

Mickey shoves himself up out of the rumpled quilt and glares around at Ian who is looming over him, fists clenched at his sides.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours! I was fucking worried about you, asshole!”

Mickey rolls himself off the mattress and lifts a nonchalant eyebrow at Ian.

“None of your damn business where I’ve been.”

The redhead is all blazing eyes and jutting jaw and Mickey’s dick is pressing painfully against his jeans, inappropriately but completely aroused by the larger man’s fury.

“And you lay hands on me like you did just now again and I’m gonna break your fuckin’ arms.”

“Oh fuck you. You’re lucky I tossed your late ass on the bed not into a wall.”

Ian snaps and Mickey’s heart flutters gently, out of rhythm with the thick waves of adrenaline coursing through his body. Ian was never afraid of him, occasionally cautious, but never afraid and he still isn’t and that fact pleases Mickey more than he is willing to admit.

“I thought you got caught or some shit.”

Ian’s words are clipped and short, each one like a whip-crack in the lightly fragrant air of the room.

“Well clearly I didn’t.”

“So where were you? I lied to my boss, took off from work …”

“Like any of that’s my problem, bitch.”

Mickey scoffs, picking up the TV remote and turning it over in his hand as if considering turning the device on. Predictably, Ian lunges forward and snatches it from his hand, throwing it across the room in absolute fury.

“I swear to God, Mickey …”

“What? What the fuck are you gonna do?”

Mickey looks Ian up and down, his eyes raking over the planes of his body as his lip curls in smugly and Ian narrowly resists the urge to slap the shit out of him, deciding to try a different tact.

“Look, I am sorry about today. About Trevor. I know you must be pissed …”

Mickey gives a small humourless laugh and lets his head tilt forward until his chin touches his chest.

Gentle.

“And I know I didn’t handle it well. I shouldn’t have frozen like that …”

Gen-fuckin’-tle

“But it was kind of a shock. You’ve been away a while Mickey and I wasn’t sure what to do…”

Mickey is biting the inside of his cheeks hard enough to raise little blisters in the delicate lining, his body going almost unnaturally still and the more he doesn’t react, the more Ian’s mind spirals and his temper, already high, frays even further.

“Jesus. Are you going to speak at all? If you want to vent about him…”

Fuck it. Gentle is overrated.

“It’s not about him! It’s about you! Last I fuckin’ checked you were gonna wait for me, not shack up with some curly haired little prick with creepy boy-band fluff on his chin.”

“We’re not … It’s not like we live together or anything. He’s just … we hang out and stuff …”

Ian fumbles for an explanation and Mickey sucks his teeth contemptuously.

“And fuck too?”

“Yes! Okay, yes, he fucks me!”

Ian hadn’t meant to say that but feels a grim satisfaction in watching Mickey’s jaw drop as he stares at Ian in open horror

“He … You let him put his dick up your ass? Since when are you a damn Bottom?”

“It’s … complicated. Trevor is Trans so it’s not like … I mean … Wait. Why am I telling you this?”

Ian stammers to a stop with that confused and earnest look on his face that used to make Mickey want to kiss him right on his stupid frowning face but right now it just make him roll his eyes.

“Because you got a big fuckin’ mouth and are shitty with other people’s secrets. Jesus. So are you Bi now or something?”

“No! … well I guess I did have sex with a woman but …”

“Ugh. You know what? Stop. I don’t wanna know.”

“Fine. But you really wanna try and tell me you haven’t fucked anyone else?”

Mickey hesitates. He fucked a few dudes but not that many and it was mostly just to prove a point to some uppity little prick or another who thought Mickey might be easy to turn into a bitch.

“I mostly got along with my hand. Cleaner and tighter than most of those jail-skanks anyway. And it don’t come whinin’ for favours later either.”

Ian snorts and then juts his chin out realising that his question has not been answered. He has no right to be jealous but he is. In that moment, he is jealous of everyone who has even dared to look in Mickey Milkovich’s direction.

“So there has been no one? No one at all?”

“No chicks or chicks with dicks or any of that freaky shit! And no one I started calling my boyfriend!”

Mickey snaps and Ian folds his arms defensively

“Well it’s different for you. You hate labelling things you never …”

“What? What do I never do?”

Mickey can feel his temper slipping as the little voice inside his head that always told him that somehow he was the reason everything went to shit, begins to awaken.

“You never want to box yourself into anything.”

Ian’s tone is soft, almost kind and it takes the fight out of Mickey a little as he shrugs and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Not with other dickheads, no, I don’t! But I don’t mind that shit with you. I’d have fuckin’ married you if you wanted it.”

Ian’s head snaps up and he looks at Mickey in an entirely new way and it irritates the Hell out of Mickey instantly.

“Don’t look at me like that! I told you already – in sickness and in health, richer and poorer, all of that. I told you and you were the one who didn’t fuckin’ want it.”

“I didn’t know you were serious.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Mickey doesn’t yell but only because there isn’t enough air left in his lungs to do it. Black spots appear in his vision around the edge of Ian’s head and Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down at the floor and fighting the urge to sit down on the bed and bury his face in his hands entirely.

Ian realises that he’s said completely the wrong damn thing and panic bubbles in his chest, pushing past all the rest of his emotions leaving only the thin, desperate knowledge that he doesn’t want Mickey to shut him out. No matter how much he deserves it, he doesn’t want to be shut out.

“I thought you were just tryin’ to stop me breakin’ up with you!”

Ian’s natural Southside drawl comes out more when he’s agitated and Mickey notices that his hands are shaking, large knuckles vibrating against each other.

“I fuckin’ was, asshole! But that don’t mean I didn’t want it anyway! Jesus, Ian! You’re a good fuckin’ lay but you think I would have put up with half your crazy shit if I wasn’t in it for the long haul? I could have found another guy with a monster dick just like that!”

Mickey snaps his fingers at Ian and runs a hand roughly over his face in frustration.

“Maybe not a red head but something, I could have found something …”

“I know you could and I appreciate everything you did for me back then. I really do, Mick.”

Ian doesn’t know if it’s allowed or not but he reaches out and cups Mickey’s jaw lightly in his palm. Mickey jerks backwards and Ian steps with him, moving until they come up against the bed and Mickey turns his head, glancing down at the mattress.

“You still want me, Gallagher?”

It is a softly asked question but it hits Ian like a blow and he blinks a couple of times before nodding

“I’ve always wanted you.”

He hadn’t intended to say that but the words feel right and he finally feels as though he might have said the correct thing at the correct time. Mickey’s lips pull upwards in a reluctant little smile and he presses his hand flat against the tight fabric of Ian’s shirt, stroking his thumb over the hollow of Ian’s ribcage, feeling the heavy pulse racing beneath it.

The thought of tasting a little blood, his or Ian’s, is seriously fucking appealing and only a couple of minutes ago, Mickey was more than prepared for a fight. What he isn’t prepared for is the feel of Ian’s lips against his, Ian’s tongue forcing its way into his mouth with a possessive urgency that Mickey hasn’t felt from Ian since before the bipolar tipped everything on its head. Since Ian wanted him so badly he was willing to do anything to get him. 

The atmosphere has shifted and taken any ambiguity about their intentions for this hotel room with it. They both know they are going to fuck, the only question is how to find their way to it through all the other shit. But Mickey knows the answer. It’s not gentle but it will work and that is what they need.

“What about your boyfriend?”

Mickey smirks, closing his eyes as Ian’s lips trail down his neck, biting softly at the pale flesh.

“Shut up and get undressed.”

Ian pulls away just long enough to shrug out of his jacket and shove Mickey backwards onto the bed. He wants to taste Mickey’s skin and feel the curve of that sweet ass pinched between his teeth. He wants to hear the sobbing breaths wrench from between those perfect lips as he sheaths himself to the hilt again and again until they are both lost.

The continued manhandling coupled with burning kisses is almost the undoing of Mickey, but he manages another smirk and takes his time unzipping his hoodie and slipping it off his shoulders. Mickey wants the sex, he wants it so badly it is painful, but to admit that, to give it without a struggle, without being overpowered, just feels too weak. He wants Ian to take charge of him and knows he will if Mickey can prod him there firmly enough.

“In a rush, Gallagher? You gotta get back to him, huh?”

Ian tugs his shirt over his head and gives Mickey a meaningful look that makes Mickey’s stomach knot in anticipation but he presses on, determined to push Ian beyond endurance.

“Is he gonna be pissed about this or is the freak house some sort of hippie commune for queers?”

Ian knows that this taunting won’t stop until Mickey gets what he wants and in a weird way, he is really glad about it because it is fuelling something within Ian as well. Something that Ian hasn’t had the opportunity to be in a long time. Dominant. Not just a little bit rough but actually in control and obeyed without question by someone who not only wants it, but fucking needs it.

“You want to call him? You can use my phone.”

Ian looks down at Mickey and his heart squeezes. Blue eyes are looking up at him and to anyone else they might just look pugnacious, maybe a little aggressive and definitely derisive but Ian sees beyond that, he is still, through some damn miracle of adoration, allowed to see beyond that.

Ian bends down and wraps his fist in Mickey’s shirt, dragging him upwards and pressing his knuckles beneath Mickey’s chin, putting them eye-to-eye, his face close enough to feel Mickey’s breath on his lips and kisses him softly, once.

“I know what you need and I’m going to give it to you, but one more snarky little comment like that and we’re done here. Do you understand?”

Mickey’s eyes narrow as he licks away the feel of Ian’s kiss on his lower lip.

“Fuc…”

Ian silences him with another kiss, this one hard enough to bruise and Mickey blinks up at him, his smirk a little less certain as he begins to yield himself.

“You wanna play rough like that huh?”

“I do. And I bought you some things …”

Grabbing his bag, Ian rummages inside and tosses lube and condoms onto the bed followed by a pack of smokes, a joint and a clutch of Ben Wah beads and Mickey gives a startled laugh.

“Holy fuck, Firecrotch! You planned a whole fuckin’ perverts picnic!”

“I figured you wouldn’t have had … you know … the stuff you like for a while.”

Ian sounds almost shy at the admission of his own thoughtfulness and Mickey almost gives himself up right that second because Ian is right, he has not had the stuff he likes for a while. He hasn’t had it since the day Ian was dragged away by the MP’s. All the same he isn’t some whiny bitch looking for a pat on the head and he forces himself to stay cool.

He cocks his eyebrow and lets his gaze drift lazily away and then back to Ian through half-lidded eyes, his tongue rolling against his lips as if it is too large for his mouth in that arrogant gesture that Ian has loved since the first time he saw it.

“You’re bein’ a little fuckin’ presumptuous! Maybe I just want a decent night’s sleep. How about you shove those beads up your own ass, huh?”

Despite himself, Ian laughs and then hastily bites his tongue to silence it. He’d forgotten how hard it is to rattle Mickey. If he’d acted like this with any of his other lovers … well … he just wouldn’t. None of them would understand this side of him, the side that was born on the streets he grew up on and nurtured in the language of his home.

“How about you shut your mouth unless you’re gonna do something useful with it.”

He quips back and Mickey smiles at him, a genuine smile that makes Ian want to cradle him to his chest almost as badly as he wants to pound him into the bed and leave him gasping.

“Now I asked you a fucking question, Milkovich: Do you understand?”

Mickey doesn’t answer, just holds Ian’s gaze steadily. It is everything either of them need.

“Get undressed, Mick.”

He says more softly and slowly but surely, Mickey complies.

Ian pauses in taking off his belt to glance up questioningly and Mickey meets his eyes with a small smile.

“You want me to keep hold of this too?”

Ian asks softly, holding the worn old leather out for Mickey’s inspection. Mickey considers it, pinches his lip between thumb and forefinger, and then shakes his head. He can take a lot, is hoping to take a lot, but some things need to be built up to and he isn’t ready for that yet.

“Not tonight.”

Mickey presses his lips together as soon as the words leave them and busies himself with unlacing his boots, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. Despite the almost desperate longing, Mickey refuses to look up to see what effect if any those two words have had on Ian.

Ian smiles softly at the back of Mickey’s head and closes his eyes. He knows he isn’t completely forgiven for Trevor, but the possibility of forgiveness is there and that is something. The rest they will figure out. Together.


	9. Smut.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ... probably not suitable for anywhere. Hungover on a train - apparently where I write all my smutty smut stuff. :)

They strip quietly, quickly, not throwing their clothes but simply discarding them. Mickey always used to go silent during this process unless Ian managed to undress him during a play fight, distracting him from the action until it was done. Nakedness is something that bothers Mickey a little and Ian, who is not bothered in the slightest by it, never fully understood why especially considering just how wonderful he looks.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Mickey.”

He murmurs, lightly plucking away the blanket Mickey has draped over his lap.

“Yeah?”

The tone is sarcastic but the accompanying look is hopeful and Ian nods firmly.

“Yes.”

“You look good too, Red. Got a little more hair on your chest these days.”

Mickey runs his fingers down his own chest, lean and hairless, marked here and there with scars and the occasional beauty mark or freckle. Ian smirks and tucks a finger under Mickey’s chin.

“Ready?”

Mickey nods, his mouth suddenly dry. It took years for him to accept compliments from Ian but once he learned how to, they became important to Mickey, maybe more so that he was willing to admit. No one had ever given him compliments before, or not on anything outside of his ability to shoot straight and hit well and whether Ian knows it or not, they are now a key component in Mickey’s willingness so hand over control.

“Stand up. Face me. Keep your hands by your side.”

Ian hasn’t given commands like this in a long time but it doesn’t feel awkward, it feels right. The control and the eventual nurture of dominating someone sexually has always fitted him, even when he was a gawky teenager and he has missed it more than he realised.

Mickey once teased him that it was because he was such a brat and needed to get his own damn way over every little thing. At the time Ian had denied it and been a little offended but actually, he doesn’t really think Mickey was too far from the mark at all.

He squeezes lube onto his fingers and Mickey spreads his legs but Ian doesn’t move behind him. Instead he steps in close and smooths a small, trace of clear gel over each of Mickey’s nipples making the brunette shudder deliciously as goosebumps scatter across his chest.

Ian slicks both their dicks with the rest and cups his hand around the hot, heavy weight of Mickey’s balls. The finger tips of his free hand pinch and lightly massage each of Mickey’s nipples in turn, eliciting sharp, keening breaths from delicately parted pink lips, bite indentations clear in the soft skin.

“You really are beautiful, Mickey. The most beautiful man …”

Ian glances up from Mickey’s chest to meet his eyes and nods as if agreeing with his own statement

“And you’re good. You’re so good. Don’t move.”

His voice is barely above a whisper but it roars in Mickey’s ears and he shivers, clenching his butt as Ian sinks to his knees and slides his hand between Mickey’s legs, slicking his inner thighs with a light films of lube as his fingers delve into the warm crevice of his ass, working him gently, almost reverently.

“Ian …”

Ian takes Mickey into his mouth and groans. He is meant to be the stoic Top but the taste of his lover is almost too much to bear. It is the same, the same heady scent, the same slightly sweet tang at the back of his throat as he relaxes his tongue and takes him deeper.

“Fuck! I missed you …”

Mickey rises onto his tiptoes as one finger becomes three and the walls of his body clench around the broad knuckles.

Ian stops when Mickey’s breathing begins to get ragged and stands, sliding himself up the length of Mickey’s body, pressing close.

“Get onto the bed.”

“Fuck that!”

Mickey scoffs and bites Ian’s lip lightly before dropping to his knees and sucking and biting his way up the long thighs. Ian tips his head back, gripping Mickey’s hair tightly. He’s getting carried away and needs to focus but Mickey has taken over and isn’t releasing him just yet. Ian can feel his orgasm building and makes an urgent noise, trying to pull his hips back but Mickey just grabs his ass and pulls him closer. Ian tries to resist but he wants it too badly and Mickey knows he does. Before he can help himself, Ian is fucking into Mickey’s mouth, his hips slamming forward over and over until stars explode behind his eyes.

“Jesus, Mickey.”

Ian shudders, his head tipped back

“That was amazing …”

“Yeah well you were bein’ a bossy prick.”

Mickey picks up the beads from the bed and drapes himself over the mattress. He is warmed up and eager now and knows what he wants.

“You remember what to do with these?”

“Yeah.”

Ian blinks trying to get his head on straight and Mickey smirks over his shoulder at him.

“The get the fuck on with it, Gallagher.”

Ian smooths his hand lightly up and down the length of Mickey’s back and around his hips to lightly rub his dick, gripping lightly as his fingertips trail over the fine dark hair at its base.

“I love you.”

“Fuck you, Gallagher”

“Seriously? You’re not gonna say it back?”

“No.”

“But … you do? Even though you won’t say it?”

The word ‘brat’ floats to Ian’s mind and he blushes slightly in the three heartbeats it takes for Mickey to answer.

“… Yes.”

Ian’s bated breath leaves him in a soft rush and he smiles happily down at the back of Mickey’s resolutely turned head.

“Okay.”

*

Mickey collapses across the bed as the last bead leaves his body, the final shudders of his orgasm making the relaxed flesh of his thighs quiver.

Ian is stroking him, gentling him, his hands large and warm, making small circles between Mickey’s shoulder blades.

“You took that so well, you did really good, Mickey”

He murmurs and Mickey smiles drowsily,

“They make you do some motivational speaking course to get that EMT licence?”

“No, I just like telling you when you’re a good…”

“Finish that sentence with ‘boy’ and I’ll rip your tongue out.”

Mickey doesn’t open his eyes but his eyebrows twitch upwards and Ian hastily occupies his tongue while he still has it, laying down nose to nose with his lover and kissing him thoroughly. There was a time when he could say such things to Mickey and feel him swell with satisfaction but such liberties must be built back up from the ashes of their former romance and Ian knows it well.

“Mmm. You ready to get on me, Gallagher?”

Mickey cracks one eye and props himself up on one elbow.

“If that’s what you want?”

“Ain’t it what you want?”

Ian grins and ducks his head at the surprised look Mickey is giving him

“Yeah but you know … I’m meant to be making some stuff up to you …”

“Well you can get that fuckin’ idea out of your head right now. I’m pissed at you and I’m gonna be pissed at you no matter how well you fuck me.”

“Yeah but …”

“No buts. I don’t want you thinking this shit is some sort of trade off.”

“Okay,”

Ian nods a little abashed at the stern tone of Mickey’s voice. It is a new and slightly exciting thing for Ian, Mickey being stern with him and it quells any argument he might have tried to put forward to the contrary.

“Right. So with that very firmly in fuckin’ mind, what do you want? I can eat your ass, suck you off, gargle your balls, or just let you fuck me however you want it?”

Mickey lists the options on his fingers as casually as nice middle class ladies list of herbal tea options to house guests and Ian rolls onto his back, grinning broadly up at the ceiling.

“I missed you so much!”

Mickey gives him a slightly goofy grin back before rolling his lips inwards and resuming his neutral expression

“So? What’s your pleasure?

“I do wanna eat that ass but I think maybe … slow cowboy?”

Ian asks tentatively but Mickey simply nods and straddles Ian’s prone body, reaching for the roll of condoms.

“’iiight.”

For some reason that strangely drawn out, street slang way of saying ‘alright’ nearly makes Ian cry and he realises that out of all the people Ian knows, it is something that only Mickey really does and yet to Ian it has become synonymous with home. Like so many things that Mickey does.

Mickey makes Ian free in a way that he just isn’t with anyone else. He forces Ian to be himself and he seems to genuinely like who that person is. Mickey doesn’t make Ian filter himself, he never did.

There is a grunt of discomfort as Mickey takes a little too much of Ian in at once and Ian instinctively reaches around to gently massage the joining of their flesh. He does it almost without thought and then remembers the first time he did so.

It had been a lazy summer afternoon, they had both been almost too exhausted to go for another round, the air hot and humid in the quiet of Ian’s bedroom lolling them both toward sleep but Ian had cajoled him and they had ended up entwined once again, Ian on top, Mickey’s heel resting lightly on his shoulder. Mickey had been approaching climax, his eyes shut tight and teeth set firmly in his lip and Ian had reached between them on impulse to touch the taut joining, slick and warm between them. It was beyond intimate and Ian had half-expected a blow or a sharp word but his touch had elicited a response that neither boy had been prepared for. Mickey had opened his eyes and grabbed Ian’s forearm hard, staring at him with completely open adoration.

“I fucking love you.”

The words,, snatched from the humid air in the split second before Mickey’s orgasm, had formed one of the best memories of Ian Gallagehr’s life.

 

Now, in a room unfamiliar to both of them, blue eyes lock onto green and hold. Mickey is remembering it too and although Ian expects a gruff instruction to move, no such order comes. Mickey bites his lip and trails his fingers roughly through the smattering of red-gold curls on Ian’s chest. His hips find a rhythm and Ian curls upwards as the sensation becomes almost painfully good.

“Oh God … Mick … MICK!”

Ian tips his head back against the mattress, his free hand gripping the flesh of Mickey’s hip hard enough to leave deep red blotches on the pale skin.

“You’re mine, Gallagher.”

“I am…. I am …”

Ian pants, he would probably agree to anything but this statement is so patently true that it doesn’t even require consideration.

“Tell me what you want …”

“I … Shit … I …”

“Tell me, Ian…”

“Cum on me, please … just…”

Mickey strokes himself firmly and the sight of the word ‘FUCK’ pumping up and down, aiming over his chest is the final straw for Ian. He bucks and twists beneath Mickey who is prepared for the sharp movements and simply travels with him, gripping with his thighs.

“I fucking love you.”

Ian gasps and Mickey allows himself a small satisfied smirk, then, looking down at Ian who is desperately trying to get his breath back and streaked in the evidence of Mickey’s ardour, Mickey allows himself to surrender. It might fuck up, it probably will but what the Hell? It wouldn’t be the first time Gallagher ruined his resolve and God willing it won’t be the last.

“I love you too.”


	10. Meeting people is fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a protective Nicky, a jealous Ian, and a well satisfied Mickey. Fun-zies.

Ian is laying on his back, an ashtray on his belly, the love of his life sprawled inelegantly across his chest and the bed is littered with condom wrappers, a now tangled string of beads, and various other items denoting a good time had by all.

He feels completely at peace with the world and exquisitely spent. He hasn’t felt like this in so long … Ian impulsively kisses the top of Mickey’s head, burying his nose in the dark mass of his hair and breathing deeply.

“Mick?”

“Mmm?”

Mickey inhales deeply and stretches, his thigh rolling over Ian’s with a boneless grace that momentarily erases all thoughts from Ian’s mind. Smiling, he runs his knuckles lightly down Mickey’s side and gathers his thoughts together again

“Who was that woman with you?”

“What?”

Mickey opens his eyes, a half-smile on his lips as he comes fully awake and the events of the last few hours trickle back into his consciousness.

“The woman you were with earlier. The one with all the hair and …”

“Fuck!”

Mickey shoots upright and rolls off the bed, grabbing for his pants, tranquillity short lived. Ian reacts too, tugging on his shirt hurriedly, though he’s not sure what they’re reacting about.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I forgot her blanket and soap and … shit. Pillows? I don’t even remember. We got a spare blanket in here? What time is it?”

“Kinda late, you were asleep for a couple hours.”

“Aww fuck! Okay change of plan. Take my keys and go get her.”

“She’s here?”

Ian is trying to follow the new course their evening has taken and lands on the assumptions that he is now expected to go and collect a random woman from somewhere and also that Mickey is about to rob the hotel room. This suspicion is confirmed when a small pile of things forms on the chair by the door and Mickey begins bundling it up.

“Yeah, she’s in the van. Come on, man. I can’t walk in and out with cameras and nosey fucks all over the place.”

“You just planning to walk out the front door with all this or …?”

“Maybe, no, I dunno … She’s been waiting hours out there. Can you get her already?”

Mickey runs a hand impatiently through his hair and Ian feels a small stab of jealousy realising that the only person he has really seen Mickey have this sort of concern for in the past is himself.

“Okay,”

Ian catches Mickey’s wrist, pulling him close and framing his face between steady hands.

“First things first. Who is she?”

“Her names Nicky, she’s a jailbird on the run and she’s been stayin’ in my van.”

“You let her stay with you?”

Ian raises his eyebrows in surprise and the knot of jealousy tightens despite his best efforts to smooth it away.

“Yeah I did. Don’t fuckin’ ask me why, bitch is crazy …”

Ian’s face softens and his lip quirks upwards

“You made a friend!”

“Fuck off. She’s just … I dunno, man … a person I don’t hate.”

Mickey twitches his nose and looks away as Ian smiles broadens outwards, reaching all the way to his eyes. He never really thought about it but to the best of his knowledge, Mickey has never actually had a friend before. He had his siblings, and he had Ian, but that’s about it.

“Alright. Give me the keys. You said her names Nicky, right?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey hands over the keys to his van a little shyly

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. We’ll be right up.”

He kisses Mickey on the mouth in parting, it feels a little strange but in a good way and Ian guesses that if Mickey is going to be back in his life, this is something he needs to get used to again, things being strange in a good way.

*

Ian steps lightly out of the hotel, the lady behind reception didn’t even look up from her phone as he went by, a roll of blanket and pillows under one arm. The air outside is really cold and he jogs across to the rust coloured van, puffs of his breath briefly visible before spreading out into the atmosphere and disappearing.

He fumbles with the keys but before he can get to the right one, the van door swings open and he is confronted with a clearly pissed off ball of hair and eyeliner.

“Where the f … Oh. Hey Ian.”

She looks him up and down and Ian gets the impression she is not overly thrilled by what she sees.

“Er … Hi. Nicky right?”

“That’s right. You boys been playing nice?”

“Nice enough.”

Ian grins at her and Nicky nods, an answering smile beginning but not quite forming. 

“So where’s Abe?”

“You mean Mickey?”

“I prefer Abe. Liberator of mouth whores and junkie cons, right?”

“Ah … Yeah okay.”

It’s weird but every word she speaks seems to have a core of humour about it, like the world is one big messed up joke that she is well and truly in on. It sort of feels like she is making fun of him but Ian can’t put his finger on why and the way she does it is not offensive. Ian can see why Mickey likes her.

“He’s inside, told me to bring you these, but also invite you up so you can shower or whatever.”

Nicky cocks her head to the side and sweeps her tongue lightly along her lower lip appraising Ian.

“That’s sweet. Did you guys order pizza yet?”

Nicky gives him a small smile and takes the stolen goods, chucks them in the van and hops down to stand beside Ian.

“No. Do you want pizza?”

“God, Yes! And you should suck up to me, I’m like … ah … you know if you go out with someone and they got a kid, and you suck up to the kid so your date will think you’re a good person and maybe invite you to stay the night? I’m Abe’s kid.”

Nicky skips a little to keep up with Ian’s long legs and he smirks at her

“Does Mickey know that?”

“Of course not!”

Nicky scoffs but beams up at him mischievously

“But how many of his friends would he kick you out of bed to go give blankets to, huh?”

Ian hadn’t thought of it like that, but it’s a very good point. Pizza it is.

“Did you tell him his hair looks nice? I cut it for him.”

“He let you cut his hair?”

“Yeah, once I pumped him full of unicorn coffee”

“What?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, private joke.”

Ian fucking hates private jokes.

*

Nicky enters the hotel room with her arms flung wide and makes a beeline straight for Mickey who is sat on the bed smoking.

“Jesus! Look at that sexed up smile! You put out on the first date didn’t you? Such a slut.”

Ian blinks in surprise at the easy way Nicky ruffles Mickey’s dark hair and pats his cheek. Mickey waves her away with an irritable scowl but that’s all he does and he doesn’t seem to mind her touching him. Ian scrolls through his phone for pizza places, deliberately averting his eyes. He is definitely jealous but really doesn’t want to be.

“What kind of pizza do you like, Nicky?”

“Anything with a ton of cheese, please Lover Boy.”

Ian gives her a side-long look at the form of address and Nicky meets it without hesitation. 

“Mick? Any preference?”

“Meat. Peppers. No fuckin’ mushrooms.”

“So is the shower everything I dreamed of?”

Nicky asks Mickey as Ian dials the restaurant

“How the fuck should I know? Go in there and look.”

Mickey nods toward the bathroom and Nicky rolls her eyes as she meanders over. She pokes her head around the bathroom door and sighs contentedly.

“Oh my God. There’s an actual fuckin’ tub. Abe, baby, I know you want me to have all the good things in life…”

“Knock yourself out.”

Mickey nods and lays back on the bed, cracking open a beer.

“Bring me one of those in?”

Nicky asks, already tugging her boots off.

“What? Fuck you, I’m not your damn maid.”

Mickey grunts but puts a can to one side for her and Ian, watching the exchange, is pretty damn sure Mickey is about to comply. What the actual fuck.

Ian manages to order two pizzas and some sides but his focus is on that damn can of beer. Mickey is flicking through TV channels and sipping his own drink but when the water shuts off in the bathroom he glances at the closed door, sets his drink aside and … Ian can’t fucking believe it … Mickey gets off the bed and pads barefoot to the bathroom door and takes Nicky the can of beer she requested.

Ian mumbles a thanks and hangs up. He hears a muttered exchange of good natured insults and then Mickey is closing the bathroom door, smiling. Actually smiling a proper damn smile for someone who is not Ian.

Ian crosses the room in three steps and grabs the front of Mickey’s shirt, fitting his lips over his lovers with a possessive urgency. Mickey freezes for a second and then responds just as hungrily and the building panic in Ian’s chest starts to subside.

“I want you.”

His voice is low and deep and Mickey arches one eyebrows

“We kinda have company at the moment.”

“Then you better keep quiet.”

Mickey’s vague social graces are no match for that intense green eyed stare and he finds himself unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them over his hips before his brain has caught up and made a decision.

Ian’s hands are rough, urgent and hard. It is exactly how Mickey likes it but also a bit of a surprise and he glances over is shoulder at Ian

“What’s got you riled up?”

“Nothing.”

Ian eases himself into Mickey with a grunt and Mickey takes a fistful of bedding, breathing strongly through his nose as his body acclimatises. He knows the rhythms of Ian’s dominance well, probably better than Ian himself in some ways and this is definitely a little out of character given how rough things got already. Mickey bites his lip as Ian finds a place inside him that sends stars skittering across his vision. A whimper escapes his lips and Mickey glances back at Ian again.

The redhead is all jutting chin and burning eyes and he’s absolutely fucking beautiful but there is something … Nicky’s singing reaches them from the bathroom and Ian’s face contorts in a scowl as he rams Mickey harder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ian!”

“What?”

“You’re jealousy banging me!”

“No I’m …”

“Yes you are. Get the fuck off!”

“Mick …”

“Now, asshole. Off!”

Mickey thrusts his hips forward, dislodging Ian who obligingly pulls back and looks sheepishly up at his lover beneath lowered lashes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Mickey buttons his pants and folds his arms across his chest irritably. He was probably about thirty seconds away from a pretty decent orgasm but that’s besides the point.

“Sorry. I just wanted to … claim you I guess.”

“Oh yeah, I fuckin’ got that. Why?”

“Because … you took Nicky a beer.”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Ian realises how ridiculous he sounds and colour floods his face. He averts his eyes wishing that the ground would just open up and swallow him. Mickey thumbs his lip and tries to suppress a smile.

“You worried you’re not the only fucker who’s got me whipped anymore?”

Ian snaps his gaze up immediately and opens his mouth to protest but Mickey is openly grinning at him now and Ian grimaces, laughing at himself.

“No. Yes. I don’t even know.”

Ian sighs and draws Mickey close, resting his chin lightly on Mickey’s head.

“I’m pissed off that someone else has been there for you. Not pissed at you or her, just at myself. I should have been the one neatening your hair and bringing you coffee.”

Mickey squeezes him tightly and tries to think of something comforting to say

“I wish it had been you. The coffee was from some stupid unicorn place, man.”

“Cool!”

“No, not fuckin’ cool.”

“Bet you secretly loved it. All glittery and …”

“How’d you know it was glittery?”

Mickey looks up at Ian and quirks his eyebrows accusingly. Ian’s blush intensifies and Mickey shakes his head in disbelief

“You fuckin’ go there don’t you? I’m away for less than two years and you start takin’ your coffee with a shot of fuckin’ glitter. God damn fairy.”

“Fuck off.”

Ian laughs, shoving Mickey’s shoulder, playfully. Mickey feigns a punch and Ian tackles him backwards onto the bed, kissing his neck before pulling back to gaze down at him wonderingly.

“What the fuck you lookin’ at now?”

“Just wondering how I survived without you.”

Mickey’s eyes soften and his fingers come up to trace the strong bridge of Ian’s nose and round to cup his cheek.

“Me too, man. Me too.”

*

Nicky towels off and sighs contentedly. Life is, she thinks, a giant jumble of fucked up surprises. How the Hell has she managed to end up here? Acting as a sort of umpire in a love triangle where the least likely candidate is the one she’s rooting for.

She grabs one of the two hotel issue toothbrushes still in it’s little plastic wrapper and goes to town on her teeth. It’s almost orgasmic after days of using her finger to try and clean them, the bristles are cheap and shitty but Nicky closes her eyes and rounds her shoulders in pleasure.

As she gets dressed again hears a series of sounds that are definitely the early beginnings of two men fucking and with an amused sigh, sits herself down on the lidded toilet to wait it out.

Six feet of red hair and premium European bone structure is enough to get anyone mixed up but you add some hardcore devotion to that cocktail … Nicky folds her arms and tries not to listen to the happy grunts and gasps coming from the bedroom. It’s going to get really fucking messy if Ian decides to bail.

Nicky knows his type. Excitable and full of ideals but when it comes to the big moment … He’ll get so far and then he’ll bail. And realistically that is fair enough! We all have our own demons, our own agendas and dreams to try and balance out with what others need from us. But “realistically” isn’t going to stop it hurting Mickey any less and though she hasn’t known him long, the thought of him being hurt really fucking pisses Nicky off.

The other room falls silent and then Nicky can hear the sounds of the men dressing. She gives it another minute and then makes a show of getting ready to exit the bathroom. By the time she opens the door Ian is fully dressed and picking up his car keys

“I’m just going to pick up the pizza”

“Cool, I’ll come with ya. Let Abe recover from his ass pounding in peace.”

Nicky grins

“Go fuck yourself.”

Mickey calls cheerfully, not looking up from the TV.

“Hey man, what happens in the ass, stays in the ass!”

Nicky calls back and glimpses a ‘C’ and ‘-’ raised toward her as she and Ian leave the room.

*

As they drive, Ian wonders whether he should thank Nicky for looking out for Mick. He’s just trying to form a good way of saying it when Nicky rolls her head across the headrest and says

“Tell me, while it’s just us guys, you gonna go with him? To Mexico?”

Ian keeps his eyes on the road and Nicky wonders if he is just going to ignore her but after a minute he shakes his head.

“I don’t know yet.”

His eyes flicking away from the road and then back again.

“I can appreciate it’s a big choice. Difficulty is, Ian, he’s on a very limited time span and every day he hangs around here waiting for you to make up your mind, the more likely it is that he gets caught and dragged back to prison.”

Ian hedges his bets and says

“I don’t know what you’re …”

“Yeah. Okay, I know but Mikhailo Alexandre Milkovich is all over the TV around here. I’ve seen him on three news channels in two days and I’ve only gone in a handful of places.”

Nicky holds up her fingers in illustration and then leans forward and clasping a hand on his forarm, looking up at Ian intently.

“He’s taking risks because he loves you. If you don’t wanna go, that’s fine, but you gotta hurry up and tell him so he can get out. You owe him that much.”

Ian swallows heavily and exhales a sharp breath through his nose.

“You don’t like me, huh?”

“Honestly, I don’t know you and I’m not judging you though I appreciate it sounds like I am. I just don’t want to see a sweet kid serving life because he waited too long for a guy who couldn’t decide.”

It’s been a few years since someone put Ian so firmly in his place. Since he started arguing back with Fiona and stopped taking shit from Lip really. Mickey would lose his temper but he never really scolded, just huffed and puffed and let Ian blow his house down to make up for whatever had caused the offence.

For a little while he’s genuinely pissed off about it but the more he thinks about it he realises that he can’t actually talk to any one else about this choice and whether she wants to help him or not, Nicky is here and she seems willing to listen. Once they have the pizza in the car and are driving back, Ian decides to ask the question that he feels suddenly desperate to ask.

“What would you do if you were me?”

Nicky sucks her teeth thoughtfully and drums her fingers on the box lid.

“Well if you love him…”

“I do.”

Ian answers immediately

“Well then you have one seriously good reason to go with him. But you got a life here too, right?”

Ian nods and Nicky shrugs her shoulders

“Is it a good life? Does it make you happy? Do you feel fulfilled?”

“Mostly. I guess.”

“Is it worth breaking your heart to keep it?”

She asks softly, almost gently and Ian has no idea how to answer.

“If the answer isn’t yes, I say go to Mexico. You’re young, you got a fuck load of bad choices to make, but honestly, I don’t think that would be one of them. Whatever you choose is fine, but you need to make a choice and stick with it.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Good. Cause, you know, I was inside for drug abuse and theft, nothing violent at least not to others but if you mess him around; I’m probably going to cut you. Not like a full on kidney stabbing, but it will probably leave a scar.”

As she says this, Nicky tongues at her rear molar and raises her eyebrows challengingly at the redhead.

Ian pooches out his lower lip, nodding without complaint. It’s been a while since he has been around people outside of his family who talk like this, and actually it is like a breath of fresh air to him. He thought he’d moved on and maybe even become a little more sophisticated than this but perhaps not. Perhaps he never really even wanted to.

“Fair enough.”

“Meeting new people is always so fun, huh?”

“Oh yeah, it’s a delight.”

Nicky laughs and smiles at him.

“Fuck it. I’ll cut you if I have to, but you’re alright, Red.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a personal statement to write. I finished a draft. Of course that is the perfect time to spend 45 minutes on a fanfiction right? ;-)   
> Next chapter is just Mickey and Nicky.

Ian wakes to find blue eyes fixed on him and a hand lightly cupping his cheek.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He turns to kiss the inside of Mickey’s wrist and smiles slightly. Sunlight is filtering in between the cracks in the curtains and the sounds of the city waking up echo softly through the walls.

There is a flash of something that casts a momentary shadow behind Mickey’s eyes, but then it is gone and his lips are pressing against Ian’s with an urgent intimacy. Ian sweeps his tongue over Mickey’s and pulls him in tight against his body. His hands feel too rough against the soft skin of Mickey’s ribs and Ian slows his movements down. He is trying to consume too much of Mickey at once, he needs to take his time.

The sex is gentler, slower than the night before and the orgasms that leave them shaking in each other’s arms are silent save for a couple of deep sighing breaths. Ian kisses Mickey’s jaw, his temple, his upper lip. He traces the swell of pectoral muscles with this thumb and memorises the colour of his morning stubble, slightly shy of black but not by much. Mickey smiles under Ian’s gaze and nudges his hips lightly against Ian’s.

“Missed waking up like this.”

“Me too.”

Ian nods and then regretfully glances at his watch.

“I have to go.”

“Will I see you again?”

Mickey asks quietly, sitting up and trying to cover up the ache those words cause him by the fumbling open of a cigarette packet.

Ian nods and nudges his forehead lightly against Mickey’s, stilling his hands. They share another kiss and then Ian is rolling out of bed, stopping only to place the filter of a smoke lightly between his lover’s lips.

“I’ll call you.”

Ian promises, taking a few notes out of his wallet and leaving them on the table.

“Get yourself some decent breakfast.”

He winks at Mickey, trying to lighten the heavy mood that has settled around them. Ian is pretty sure Mickey is trying not to cry, he’s got that glassy eyed look and his nostrils are flared wide and the sight makes Ian’s gut clench. He thinks of all those years he would give Mickey those same pleading looks, begging him silently not to go and knowing that he would anyway. It gives Ian a new appreciation of what the other side of those early days must have felt like.

“I’ll call you, Mick.”

He repeats more firmly and the Mickey nods curtly, clears his throat and says

“Okay. I gotta collect a couple things, I’ll be leaving town this afternoon. This evening at latest.”

Ian knew this was likely but actually hearing it leaves him feeling a little light headed.

“Fine. Cool. Okay.”

He turns to the door. He needs to go but suddenly it is all too much. Arriving, leaving, coming, going, hello, and of course, good-bye. Ian wants to say that he’ll definitely be going with Mickey but in truth he still isn’t sure. A teenage love affair is not meant to be like this. It is meant to either run its course, like flames flicking along a linear trail of gasoline and then burn out, or it is meant to shape into a partnership and a life built. What has happened between he and Mickey has been too much of one thing to ever really be the other. It has been a constant battle for every single moment of happiness and now, running away together with the law on their tail … Jesus. It would be hard enough on someone without Ian’s fluctuating mental health issues, but with them it feels like a disaster waiting to happen.

He stares at the door handle in the agony of indecision. As he hesitates, a strong arm wraps around Ian’s waist and he feels Mickey’s cheek press into his shoulder. Ian turns just enough to wrap himself around the shorter man and they stay like that, just holding each other.

“I’m going to call. I promise.”

Ian mumbles into Mickey’s hair and feels a nod against him.

“You take care of yourself, okay?”

Mickey says finally, pulling back, eyes red rimmed but dry. Ian nods and smooths his hands over Mickey’s shoulders and down his arms, memorising as much of his face as he can, drinking in the tiny details and the feel of his skin.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Mickey gives Ian a small smile and with more strength than he knew he had, he lets him go.

*

Mickey presses his forehead against the cool gloss painted door as it closes behind Ian and squeezes his eyes shut tight, willing himself to stay in control.

There is a small sound of blankets being shifted and Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose firmly, setting his shoulders, inhaling deeply and pulling it together.

“You okay?”

Nicky asks quietly and Mickey nods, wiping a hand across his upper lip before turning to face her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He’ll do what he has to do. Always has.”

Nicky wraps a blanket around her shoulders like a cape and settles herself cross legged on the bed giving him a sympathetic smile.

“You look like you need a drink.”

Mickey puffs out his cheeks with an awkward grimace. He desperately wants to dive into a bottle and not surface until he knows what Ian is going to do but he’s taken too many risks already and he knows he’s a sloppy drunk, especially when he’s upset.

“Nah. I got shit to do. Can’t do it if I can’t think straight.”

“How about we go out for coffee then? This room smells like stale beer, rough sex, and repressed anger.”

“Yeah … well … You spilled the fuckin’ beer!”

Nicky lets out one of her deep throaty laughs and grins at him

“The beer is actually not the worst thing out of those three. C’mon. Let’s go get decent coffee.”

“You suggest that weird glittery coffee place I’m gonna fuck you up.”

“Ian goes there. Don’t you wanna see it?”

“No.”

Mickey runs a hand over his jaw, grimacing at the stubble.

“I’m gonna shower. Order coffee to the room or something.”

“Hey! I like this new side of you. Room service and personal hygiene? You’re a winner, Abe.”

“Not my fuckin’ name.”

Mickey grouches but he’s actually feeling a little better already. Nicky teasing him is a pain in the ass but it’s just really good to have someone around. Anyone really. A distraction from the disturbance that is occurring in his mind.

By the time he finishes his shower and shave there is coffee, fruit and bagels waiting for him. There is also the faint tang of marijuana in the air and he frowns at Nicky accusingly.

“Would you believe me if I told you that a couple of high-school guys with leather bombers and bad attitudes broke in and smoked all your pot while you washed up?”

Nicky grins at him, a lopsided, half-awake smile that makes Mickey roll his eyes but he isn’t actually that fussed about the pot. He needs to keep sharp today, way too much shit riding on him to risk fucking it up because he can’t stop laughing.

“You’re an asshole is what I’d believe.”

“Junkie asshole. Can’t leave me around drugs, Abe.”

Mickey pauses in towelling his hair and cocks his head in her direction

“Really?”

“Yeah really. Shit. You left me alone for five minutes and I smoked the one joint we have. Didn’t even save you any.”

She looks anxious now and Mickey knows that one of her monologue confessions is about to spring forth and as he hasn’t even had coffee yet, he figures it’s best to cut that one off before it begins.

“I don’t care that you smoked it so just …”

“Are we gonna be dealing a lot of drugs in Mexico?”

“Huh?”

Mickey bites into an apple and picks up his drink, trying not to show the rush of hopeful excitement that sprang from her use of the word ‘we’.

“Drugs? In Mexico? Cause I figure if we are then you should probably leave me behind.”

“You bailing on me too?”

The hopeful excitement wobbles and his words come out a lot needier than Mickey intended. He fills his mouth with more fruit to stop any other whiny crap coming out.

“I’m not bailing on you but I can’t be around high volumes of narcotics. I will do all the drugs we have and get our fingers cut off or whatever the Cartel do …”

“Cartel…?”

“And also, Ian hasn’t bailed on you. Personally I think he’ll come with you – maybe not the whole way, I don’t know how much of a pussy he is, but he’ll at least get in the van.”

“He’s not a pussy. And I’m not taking the van! Things a piece of crap.”

Mickey snaps, then chokes on his apple and Nicky waits patiently for him to decide whether or not he is about to die before continuing as he gulps down a glass of water and pounds his chest.

“Whatever, the point is … shit … what was my point?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Mickey quips, voice harsh from his near death experience. Nicky stands up and walks over to him, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders.

“You are a really great kid, really great. I don’t even know how I know that but I just do. I want you to make it outta here, Abe. I really want that.”

“Okay.”

Mickey nods, his eyes darting away from her intense brown gaze because that sort of eye contact with anyone but Ian makes him feel a little claustrophobic and he doesn’t know what to do with her emotion.

“So I can’t be the one who fucks it up for you. Me and drugs … we’re like that shitty couple who hate each other but keep going because the sex is amazing. I can’t help it and I can’t control it.”

“Yeah I know that feeling.”

Mickey quirks his eyebrow in teasing irony and Nicky acknowledges it fondly

“Right. So I have to be honest with you and say that I am the shittiest person when it comes to narcotics and I want to go with you, but …”

“You do?”

Mickey’s eyes snap back to hers and Nicky gives him another one of those sweetly lopsided smiles

“I do, fresh start could be good for me and Chicago is fucking freezing.”

“Not even winter yet.”

Mickey smirks and then softens into a genuine smile as Nicky hands over around a third of a blunt.

“I lied, I did save you some but I wanted you to know that I have a problem and I don’t want to make it your problem too. Did I make my point?”

Nicky watches as Mickey lights it, looks pointedly at her and after a long inhale that makes his chest rattle, steps into the bathroom and drops the rest in the toilet bowl, exhaling through the little window.

“Yeah you did. Fuckin’ long winded and dramatic way to make it, but we got there.”

He rolls his shoulders and thinks for a moment.

“You okay with guns? I can run those instead, probably less hassle to be honest. And there is always beat down work too. Wherever you go, someone always wants to pay to fuck someone else up.”

“I was more thinking coffee shop on the beach front, serving espressos to tourists.”

Nicky sighs happily at the thought but Mickey wrinkles his nose in distate

“Fuck that. I want to make some cash and then buy the damn coffee store. I ain’t bein’ some assholes waiter”

“Sweet! Okay you buy it, then you can make me manager.”

“More like fire your ass and get someone who don’t give me shit every day.”

Mickey throws over his shoulder as he begins styling his hair.

“Oh fuck off. You know you find me delightful.”

“Sure as shit wouldn’t be serving any glittery crap.”

Nicky rolls her eyes as she leans against the door jamb watching him.

“For someone who hated it, you sure bring it up a lot.”

Mickey raises his middle finger in the mirror and declines to answer. Nicky winks at him and smiles

“I’m gonna make a special latte. It’ll be milk, coffee …”

“Sounds like a real game changer …”

“Shut up. Milk, coffee, a shot of vodka and … get this, some dark rum on top and I’m gonna call it ‘Abe’s Revenge’”

“Revenge for what?”

“Everything.”

Nicky opens her eyes wide and nods sagely and after thinking about his life for a moment, Mickey snorts and turns back from the mirror.

“Why the fuck not? Abe’s Revenge.”

“Or ‘Mickey’s’ if you like?”

Nicky offers, arching one eyebrow.

“Abe’s is fine.”

Mickey sniffs dismissively, as if he hasn’t bitched about the nickname incessantly, and strides past her.

“Of course it fucking is.”

Nicky laughs to herself.

*


	12. Let's roll

“So … When did you know you were gay?”

Mickey looks to his left to raise an eyebrow at Nicky and pushes his tongue into his cheek. They’ve been waiting for Iggy for nearly fifteen minutes. Not long, but long enough for Nicky to start getting antsy. Mickey has noticed that about her, she seems to be in perpetual movement and when she has to sit still, she gets annoying as fuck. Just like Ian. He glances at the phone in his hand but there is nothing. Fuck sake.

“What?”

Nicky asks, giving the look back and then grinning at him.

“You’re a nosy fucker, that’s what.”

“It’s good to share. Makes you live longer or something. I’ll go first,”

Nicky clears her throat and blinks up at the cold blue sky with dramatic wistfulness

“My friend Jessica’s mom had THE most amazing wrack …”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Mickey cuts across her story with a frown of distaste.

“What you don’t like boobs?”

“No I don’t like boobs. Even the word! It sounds stupid.”

“As opposed to scrotum? Cause that word sounds made up.”

Nicky wrinkles her nose at him.

“Okay, so what would you call boobs then?”

Nicky asks and then laughs as Mickey makes one of those overly dramatic explosive gestures of face and hands that she finds adorable.

“How the fuck should I know? They’re little weird fleshy globes that people lose their fucking minds over. Maybe fuckin’ … Flabby chest balls.”

“Ew! What the fuck? That’s horrible.”

Nicky laughs and watches as her friends lip quivers just a tiny bit.

“I don’t fucking know! You’re the asshole asking stupid fucking questions.”

Mickey thumbs his lip and looks down at his phone again.

“What time did you tell him we were going?”

“Didn’t.”

“Well you think maybe you should?”

Nicky is trying to tread lightly but she knows it is probably like treading lightly around a landmine, doesn’t matter how gentle you are, one wrong move and the fuckers gonna blow. Mickey tongues at the slightly bitten chapping on his full bottom lip and shrugs.

“He said he’d call me. I’m not some whiny bitch who can’t wait for a call.”

“Except you can’t wait.”

“I can wait a little while.”

Mickey says softly and despite the words she is desperate to yell at him regarding the sensibleness of a decision to wait, Nicky knows there is going to be no faster way to spark an argument than pressing him too hard here.

“Okay.”

*

The car Mickey’s contact has procured is pretty nice. Nicky doesn’t know shit about cars but it’s a silver four-x-four thing that looks pretty new. The dirty looking blonde guy who climbs out of the drivers seat in a shredded grey cut off looks at Nicky with a vaguely amused expression.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Don’t fuckin’ ask.”

Mickey grunts, holding his hand out for the keys.

“Hi! I’m …”

“Hey!”

Mickey holds up a warning hand to Nicky and shakes his head

“What he don’t know, he can’t be made to tell. Same goes for you.”

Nicky rolls her eyes and raises her eyebrows at the blonde guy apologetically

Iggy grins and drops the keys into his brothers hand, nodding to Nicky

“Nice to meet you anyway.”

“Yeah you too.”

“We gotta go.”

Mickey says quietly, checking his phone yet again. No messages. No missed calls.

“Is … uh … the other guy not comin’?”

Iggy asks sympathetically and Mickey gives a curt shake of his head.

“Nah. Don’t matter. He’s got his shit to do and I got mine.”

Iggy and Nicky share a quick look of understanding and then Iggy nods and says

“Okay, cool. Well. I guess this is it, huh?”

Mickey’s eyes snap up from the phone screen

“Yeah, guess so. You need anything?”

“Nah. I’ll be alright.”

“Cool.”

Iggy thumbs his lower lip and Nicky startles realising that this must be one of Mickey’s brothers. She’d sort of guessed anyway but that little gesture. Shit. It suddenly feels like she is intruding and she nudges Mickey firmly.

“Can I get in the new car?”

Mickey gives her the keys without comment and scratches his cheek awkwardly as she leaves him and Iggy alone.

“Thanks for the car and … the photo too.”

Iggy stares at his little brother for a second before tutting and throwing his arms around his shoulders and pulling Mickey close. Mickey’s arms tighten around him briefly, his face pressed into the dark fabric of Iggy’s old cut off.

“You were always a clever little bastard. Smartest kid Pop had. If anyone is gonna make it, it’ll be you.”

Iggy mumbles and pulls back clapping both of Mickey’s shoulders between his hands. He knows there is a good chance this is going to be the last time he sees his brother, at least for a while and he has no idea how to deal with that. Mickey is clearly feeling the same way because neither of them can make proper eye contact. It’s not the Milkovich way to be such a pussy over a good bye. Iggy takes a deep breath, smiling nervously and shrugs.

“You want me to fuck Gallagher up if I see him?”

“No. Don’t do anything to him. He’s off limits now, same as always.”

Iggy pouts and then nods.

“Fair enough. Call when you can.”

“Yeah. I will.”

Mickey sniffs heavily and he and Iggy bump fists.

“Alright. Well. See ya.”

“See ya, bro.”

Iggy smiles and ruffles Mickey’s hair once more before heading toward the old pile of shit van as Mickey climbs into the new silver car, their lives finally and irrevocably headed in different directions. Iggy beeps the horn as he drives past and Mickey lifts his hand in a small wave.

“You good?”

Nicky asks, handing him a cigarette, which Mickey takes, tossing the cellphone on the dash and slipping his shades on.

“Yeah.”

They sit, parked in the middle of the dock, smoking in utter silence. Nicky puffs her cheeks out as Mickey drums his fingers against the little cellphone. Minutes tick by and finally she throws her hands up. All or nothing.

“So do we live here now?”

“What?”

“I mean I didn’t buy flip-flops yet but I was pretty sold on a life south of the boarder.”

Mickey frowns at her and folds his arms defensively over his chest.

“Look, if he doesn’t call tonight, we can get a room and just …”

“No way. Uh-uh. You can’t wait another night.”

“I’m just …”

“You’re a sitting target. That’s what you just are. You think people haven’t recognised you already?”

“Why are you being a dick about this?”

“Because! You’re a smart guy acting seriously dumb. You’re all over the TV …”

“You seen me?”

Mickey’s face softens with worry and Nicky sighs sympathetically

“Yes, Mikhailo Alexandre Milkovich, I have seen you and other people have too. Abe, I know you don’t want to but you have got to leave town. Now.”

“I didn’t know you’d seen me.”

Mickey mumbles and Nicky smiles gently at him. She’s getting pissed off with the waiting but she is trying to keep her cool.

“Saw you when I went for coffee. Then again in the store. And again at the youth centre.”

Mickey cringes and curses under his breath.

“I can’t just leave him.”

“Right, so call.”

“But he said …”

“Jesus, Mickey! Fucking call! What else are you going to do? Sit around not knowing whether its a good bye or not? Why do you always give all of the power to him, huh? Take some of it back already!”

Nicky seizes the phone and shoves it firmly into his hand. He is so shocked by the outburst that he is beginning to comply before the belligerent streak of his nature catches up and he shakes his head.

“Fuck! I thought South Side was supposed to be tough. You’re both pussies!”

Nicky snatches the phone back and dials the one number on it, ignoring Mickey’s outraged cry and his grasping hand. Ian answers almost instantly and Nicky figures he’s been watching his cell phone just like Mickey has. Stubborn idiots.

“Mick?”

“No, it’s Nicky. We’re rolling, you in or out?”

There is a pause on the end of the line and the look Mickey is giving her over the rim of his shades suggests that he is seriously contemplating opening the door and shoving her and the damn phone out of the vehicle.

“Can you pick me up?”

Ian asks and Nicky raises an eyebrow

“Really?”

“What? What did he say?”

Mickey makes an impatient gesture at the same time as Ian says

“Yeah. I can be … fuck. I can be wherever.”

Nicky holds up a finger to Mickey and nods

“Hang on, Let me ask.”

Mickey’s look has turned outright homicidal but Nicky ignores it.

“Can you pick him up?”

“Really?”

“Ah, see I pre-empted you and already asked that. Yes really. Can you get him?”

Nicky is pretty sure she has never heard quite such a spectacularly dramatic screech of tires even in the movies and she’d be pissed at the way she was thrown back in her seat by the force of them leaving the docks if she wasn’t so damn pleased.

“Yeah, I think we can come and get you.”

*

Ian sees the silver car barreling toward him and smiles. He has his bags ready, he said good bye to Trevor, he told Carl he could have the stuff he left behind in his room. He had time to think and he used it well. For once Ian actually feels like he has made a decision he actually wants for himself. He wants Mickey, whatever the fuck that entails.

As the car pulls up alongside him, Ian grins at both adorable convicts but his eyes fix on Mickey in a way that they haven’t in a long time, with utter certainty.

“Okay, okay, I know that look… hold on.”

Nicky holds up her hands and then hastily gets out of the passenger seat.

“I’ll sit in the back, you two can do your thing up front.”

Mickey is smiling in a way that makes Ian’s stomach do somersaults and as Nicky chucks his bag in the back seat and climbs in, Ian takes his own seat beside the man he loves and leans over, pressing his lips against Mickey’s own.

“Sorry I’m late.”


	13. Hypothetical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have our first canon fixer regarding the journey to Mexico and toward an eventual different story at the boarder. In 7x10 Mickey seems to barely notice how the near miss with the cop cruiser effects Ian, how much is freaks him out in that moment, it might not have been significant but when it seemed it to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Edit courtesy of the amazingly talented Nicrenkel <3

Hypothetical questions are pretty fucking high on the long list of things that piss Mickey off. They’re worse than normal questions because at least with normal questions, people are being nosy fuckers for a reason. Not a good reason, there is never a good reason for people not minding their own damn business, but A reason. Being hounded with hypotheticals is something Mickey cannot abide and he has made his feelings on it known in such a way, a loud, aggressive and threatening way, laced with swears and name calling, that neither his asshole boyfriend or bitch new friend are currently speaking to him.

Instead, they’re both making him slightly homicidal by speaking to each other and asking the kind of inane bullshit that makes Mickey’s chest hurt with the strain of not flipping out again.

“Yeah but it’s shell is it’s home, so it’s homeless.”

“But it’s what covers the turtles body so you could argue that it’s naked.”

“But then where does it live?”

“The ocean? Yeah! Okay, so it lives in the ocean but WEARS a shell so it would be naked.”

Mickey can see Nicky thinking about this and grips the steering wheel tightly, shaking his head a little. They’re both stoned and Mickey wishes he was too. He can see the cogs ticking over in Nicky’s brain and just knows she’s going to counter Ian’s bullshit with some other, more obscure bullshit and despite pressing his lips together and flaring his nostrils, Mickey knows he is going to snap like a fucking twig if …

“Riiiight. But what if …”

“THE TURTLE IS FUCKIN’ DEAD! YOU RIP OFF ITS FUCKIN’ SHELL THE FUCKER IS GONNA FUCKING DIE!”

Mickey clamps his mouth shut again and briefly closes his eyes, almost willing the car to veer off the road into a tree and put an end to his suffering.

“How do you know?”

Ian says quietly and Mickey can hear Nicky sniggering to herself in the back seat.

“Because, dumb ass, the shell is like its fuckin’ spine or some shit.”

“Huh.”

Ian shrugs and gives Mickey a small placid smile, not reacting to his tone in the slightest. He rolls his head innocently across the headrest until he is practically leaning on Mickey’s tense shoulder and smiles beatifically up at his cranky lover.

“Mick?”

“What?”

Mickey’s eyes flick away from the road, down to Ian who blinks up at him and asks

“Would you rather …”

“Fuck. Off.”

Mickey grits as Nicky snorts and leans forward to punch Ian’s shoulder lightly

“Quit it junior! You’re gonna make Daddy turn the car around.”

“I wish I could turn the fuckin’ car around. Kick your stupid asses out and leave you on the side of the road.”

Mickey grumbles to himself, glancing down as Ian ghosts his palm over his crotch and settles his fingers beneath the hot weight of Mickey’s balls.

“Shit. Not even a semi? You really are pissed.”

He laughs and then dodges back across to his side of the car as Mickey takes one hand off the wheel and mimes backhanding him but there is a small smile lurking in the crease of Mickey’s eyes as he does it. Ian’s touch is normally enough to bring him out of even the worst moods, although he would never admit it to the cocky redheaded bastard.

They’ve been driving a few hours and the further out of the city they get, the more relaxed Ian seems to become – or sort of relaxed. Mickey isn’t sure whether it is actual relaxation or more like a sort of delirium but he doesn’t have the time or the inclination to worry about that. It might be selfish but Ian is here and that is what really matters, that is all that matters to Mickey.

“One of you swap with me. Sick of driving and listening to you act like idiots.”

“I’ll take a turn.”

Ian smiles and Mickey pulls over to the side of the road.

“Anyone gotta pee?”

“Jesus! You really have gone all pack leader! If I had to pee, I’d have told you that … oh. Wait. Yep. I do have to pee.”

Nicky laughs and staggers out of the back seat, wandering over to stand next to Mickey who is facing away from the car, one hand on his zipper as he aims into the scrub.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Uh … I know you hate hypotheticals so I’m just gonna assume that you’re not keen on rhetorical either and this one was an accident. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Nicky grins, popping open the button of her jeans.

“It looks like you’re about to pee on the side of the road?”

“Well there you go! You figured it out! Hey good for you, Abe. Really. I’m proud.”

“Hey! You can’t … Jesus! Don’t just get your ass out on the freeway. Go behind a fuckin’ shrub.”

“You’re getting your dick out! What? Is my ass somehow more frowned upon than your penis?”

Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales strongly. He’s never thought of life as a cosmic joke, a cosmic fuck-up sure, but not a joke. He probably would have gone his whole life without doing so but here he is, on the run from the law, desperate for a piss and arguing the toss about it with the world’s most annoying human poodle and Mickey is torn between a toddler style melt down and hysterical laughter.

“I’m gonna kill someone.”

He says, a quiet calm descending as the menacing revelation hits him.

“Is it Ian? That turtle thing was damn annoying. Of course the answer would be ‘homeless’…”

Nicky notices the gleaming side-eye she is being given and tiptoes to kiss Mickey on the cheek.

“Okay, I’m going. Please don’t drive off without me. I am very adverse to walking.”

“Go.”

Mickey snaps firmly and waves her away, yanking his zipper down with far more force than is strictly necessary.

Walking round to the passenger door, after he has finished, he ducks his head to light a smoke at the exact moment a vehicle rushes past from the other direction. Mickey glances after it, eyes widening at the familiar sight of a cop cruiser disappearing into the distance.

“Ha!”

His bad mood all but evaporates as he swings into their car, motioning to the mirror with his cigarette

“Fuck! Did you see …”

The smile freezes on his face as he looks at Ian, who is staring out into the middle distance, his face unusually pale, jaw clenched.

“Ian? Hey,”

Mickey reaches across and cups Ian’s chin in his hand, waggling it slightly until Ian blinks and looks round at him, a shudder running through his body.

“You okay?”

Mickey asks and Ian lets out a shallow breath, shaking his head to clear the white noise filling it.

“That was too close, Mickey.”

“What? That fuckin’ cruiser? Man, that guy was probably thinking about how to improve his morning jack off, he ain’t thinking about me… unless he uses my mug shot to get himself goin’.”

Mickey tries a joke but Ian is not ready, not even close to ready to laugh about it.

“C’mon Ian. It’s fine. We’re fine!”

Ian shakes his head, closing his eyes and pulling his chin out of Mickey’s grip as Nicky clambers into the back seat, a quip about interrupting a moment dying on her lips as she realises that she really is interrupting a moment and it looks like a damn tense one.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey shoots over his shoulder, carding a hand through his hair and gesturing at the road with an impatient flick of his hand, ash from his smoke skittering across the dashboard.

“Let’s go.”

Ian nods mutely and starts the engine, then shakes himself and rubs his hands frantically over his eyes. His tension is making Mickey tense too and he slaps a hand down on the ashy dash impatiently.

“Ian! Come on! Drive the fuckin’ car!”

“I can’t. Shit. I’m sorry, my head is spinning, Mick …”

“It’s fine, I’ll drive.”

Nicky offers, she’s stoned but the atmosphere shift has sobered her enough to take the wheel. She and Ian swap places quickly while Mickey broods in the passenger seat and after adjusting the seat for her shorter legs, Nicky accelerates down the road.

*

Nicky glances in the rear view mirror to check Ian is asleep and then turns to Mickey who has been sitting in a moody silence for nearly an hour.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“With you and Pumpkin Spice?”

Mickey snorts at the nickname but keeps his eyes resolutely on the passing scenery, thumbing anxiously at the corner of his mouth.

“Cruiser rolled by. Freaked him out.”

“Oh shit! Did they notice you?”

Nicky takes her own eyes off the road to turn and look at Mickey properly

“Yeah, no, they stopped, had a little chit-chat, we took a selfie to show the boys in the precinct … Course they didn’t fuckin notice me. You think we’d be driving at this leisurely fuckin’ pace if they noticed me?”

Mickey shakes his head disbelievingly as Nicky grins, rolling her eyes in mild exasperation.

“So what’s the problem?”

“The fuck should I know? One minute he’s talking shit about turtles, the next he’s subverbal cause a car drove past us.”

“Cop car.”

Nicky defends gently and Mickey shrugs, not giving a shit and scrunching his nose dismissively to make sure she knows it.

“Whatever.”

Nicky stretches her back, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and groans as her back pops loudly.

“Listen, I love you like a shitty little brother who I kind of want to hug but also frequently want to physically assault …”

“Fuckin’ weirdo…”

“And Pumpkin clearly loves you too or he wouldn’t be here. So you gotta think about how he must feel at the thought of you being caught and hauled back to jail. Probably fucking terrifies him, man.”

Mickey tongues his cheek and shrugs, squinting deliberately into the sun. He knows it’s probably some mind trick or something but with every mile further south they get, Mickey swears the sun feels hotter on his face. He briefly thinks about where they can pick up some sunblock for Ian but casts the thought aside as temporarily unimportant.

“Hey – it doesn’t mean he’s not down for this, alright? Just that you need to be a bit more reassuring, bit gentle, yeah?”

“What is it with you always tellin’ me to be gentle?”

Mickey scowls around at her, grabbing Ian’s bottle of gator aid from the drink holder and taking a swig. Nicky reaches for her own, accidently nudging Ian’s booted foot as she fumbles for it in the back.

“It would not hurt you to mellow out a fraction. You’re always yelling and bitching at everyone.”

“The fuck? I don’t yell and bitch!”

“Yeah you do, and it’s pretty cute most of the time but learn when to turn it down and control yourself. Don’t yell at your boyfriend for worrying about you.”

Mickey draws a heavy breath through his nose, nostrils flaring as he purses his lips irritably. He doesn’t doubt that there is some truth to what Nicky has said. Not so much about his attitude because fuck that! He is who he is and Ian knows that well enough. Mickey doesn’t doubt that he has the capacity to change, he’s made enough changes to himself over the last few years to know that he can, but actually he’s comfortable with himself now. Gay, tough, free, and Ian’s. Those are the things he knows he is and they are enough.

Still Mickey remembers how he felt when Ian was being taken away, the gut clenching fear of losing him, of not being able to do anything to help … maybe Ian felt a little bit of that fear when then cops rolled past and if so then … well then Mickey can understand that.

“I didn’t mean to yell at him.”

“About the turtles or the driving?”

“The driving. Both of you needed your asses kicked for the damn turtle bullshit.”

Mickey smirks and then sobers again, rasping his hands down the rough denim of his jeans, thinking. When he speaks, his voice is quieter

“Whatever happens I’m not going back to jail. I had eight years for an attempted something - they catch me now after an actual escape? What do I get twenty? Thirty? I don’t fucking know but I’m not going back.”

“Well then, we better start being more careful where you pee. Get you like a mask to wear or something.”

Nicky pats his leg in quiet support and nods. Neither of them needs to spell out what he is saying and neither of them want to dwell on it.

“Would you rather wear a pee mask or a shit cape?”

Ian says quietly and both his favourite fugitives jump, not realising he was awake.

“Like a cape you have to wear to take a dump?”

Nicky grins into the rear view mirror as Ian leans forward, yawning and wrapping one arm around the back of Mickey’s chair to settle across his broad chest.

“Yeah, or a mask you have to put on every time you pee.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and huffs but answers all the same, his hand coming up to stroke the pad of his thumb across Ian’s knuckles

“Shit cape. Lotta bathrooms are fuckin’ freezing.”

Ian gives him a little squeeze and leans in to kiss the shell of his ear gently as Nicky picks up the thread and starts extolling the virtues of a pee mask. Somehow with Ian’s finger thrumming his nipple, Mickey finds the hypothetical questions a bit easier to bear.


End file.
